OUTLAW 


MRS. ALFRED 


LAW  AND  OUTLAW 


OF  CALIF*  LIBRARY,  IAS 


LAW  AND  OUTLAW 


BY 


Mrs.  ALFRED  SIDGWICK 

AUTHOR  OF 
"SALT  OF  THE  EARTH,"  "THE  DEVIL'S  CRADLE,"  ETC. 


"Thou  shalt  not  kill;  but  need'st  not  strive 
Assiduously  to  keep  alive." 

— A.  Clough. 


NEW  YORK 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
W.  J    WATT   &  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


LAW  AND  OUTLAW 

PROLOGUE 

THE  powder)'  snow  had  been  falling  for  hours,  and 
was  gathering  in  drifts  amongst  the  shrubs  and 
on  either  side  of  the  drive.  A  path  to  the  house, 
wide  enough  for  cars  and  carts,  had  been  cleared  that 
morning  by  Mr.  Twistleton's  gardeners,  but  as  dusk  came 
and  all  traffic  stopped  it  was  thinly  covering  again.  Out- 
side the  house,  in  the  suburban  roads  of  Manchester,  the 
snow  lay  in  shoveled  heaps  as  cold  as  the  sky,  and  as 
grimy  as  the  air;  but  within  the  gates  of  Green  Bank 
it  preserved  its  whiteness  and,  except  where  small  birds 
left  the  mark  of  their  claws,  its  smooth  shining  surface. 
The  lighted  house  stood  surrounded  by  a  white  world, 
warm  within,  freezing  cold  without.  Daphne  Twistleton 
shivered  as  she  made  her  way  to  the  front  door.  She 
carried  a  suit-case  but  no  umbrella;  and  her  hair,  her 
hat,  and  her  long  fur  coat  were  powdered  with  snow. 

Yet  she  had  hardly  walked  two  hundred  yards.  The 
car  that  had  brought  her  back  to  her  husband's  house 
waited  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  road,  just  outside; 
waited,  according  to  arrangement,  in  case  anything  went 
wrong.  Not  that  anything  was  likely  to  go  wrong. 
Daphne  put  down  the  suit-case,  which  was  rather  heavy 
for  her,  and  tried  to  open  the  front  door.  It  was  locked. 
Of  course.  Jordan,  the  butler,  had  orders  to  lock  it  at 
tea-time,  and  in  Mr.  Twistleton's  house  servants  obeyed 
orders.  If  they  disobeyed  they  were  dismissed.  Daphne 
rang  the  bell  and  waited.  The  cold  was  intense.  Her 
clothes,  warm  as  they  were,  hardly  protected  her  and  she 

2132778 


»  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

shivered  as  she  waited.  She  had  not  slept  much  since 
she  left  home  two  days  ago,  and  the  snow  had  given  her 
violent  neuralgia.  Snow  always  did,  unless  she  stayed 
indoors  and  took  care.  Her  body  longed  for  rest  and 
warmth,  but  her  thoughts  were  in  such  a  turmoil  that 
even  the  stinging  pain  in  her  head  and  eyes  seemed  of 
little  moment !  How  slow  Jordan  was  in  opening  the 
door!  At  last!  She  heard  the  inner  door  and  then  his 
fingers  at  the  lock,  but  what  was  he  about?  Instead  of 
throwing  the  door  open  he  held  it  nearly  shut,  and 
peeped  at  her  through  the  aperture. 

"It's  me,  Jordan,"  she  said,. 

"So  I  see,  m'm,"  said  he.       Sorry!" 

How  uncomfortable  he  looked !  The  hall  light  showed 
his  face  plainly,  and  though  he  tried  to  keep  it  inexpres- 
sive he  was  not  succeeding  well.  He  held  something 
in  one  hand.  A  letter !  He  was  shoving  it  through  the 
door  as  if  he  wished  her  to  take  it.  Her  heart  began 
to  beat  so  violently  that  she  could  not  speak  for  a  mo- 
ment. She  took  the  letter  and  stood  there  staring  at 
Jordan  through  the  chink  in  the  door. 

"Why  don't  you  let  me  in?"  she  said,  before  she 
looked  at  the  letter.  She  could  not  read  it  without  more 
light.  She  did  not  want  to  read  it  just  then.  She  wanted 
to  get  inside  the  house. 

"Sorry,  m'm,"  said  Jordan  again.  She  wondered 
whether  she  could  slip  past  him,  and  decided  she  could 
not.  He  was  a  big  man  and  he  stood  as  she  had  some- 
times seen  him  stand  when  he  was  parleying  with  a 
troublesome  tramp  or  hawker.  These  gentry  came  to 
the  front  door  now  and  then,  and  by  Mr.  Twistleton's 
orders  were  sent  promptly  away,  but  they  knew  where 
to  go  to.  They  had  their  own  shelters,  Daphne  sup- 
posed. She  had  not,  nor  had  she  any  money  with  her. 

"Go  and  tell  Mr.  Twistleton  that  I  am  here !"  she  cried 
next.  "Be  quick!  I'm  frozen." 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  3 

The  man  hesitated. 

"I  can  go  and  tell  him,  but  I  can't  let  you  in,  m'm," 
he  said.  "I  have  strict  orders." 

"Well,  be  quick,"  she  said,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
breath,  "but  mind  you  make  Mr.  Twistleton  understand 
that  I  must  see  him." 

The  man  shut  the  door  in  her  face,  and  she  waited 
close  to  it,  listening.  The  pain  in  her  eyes  was  acute,  and 
she  felt  sick  with  it.  Her  feet  were  sodden  with  snow 
and  numb  with  cold,  for  she  had  only  taken  thin  shoes 
away  with  her.  Luckily  she  felt  wide  awake,  and  when 
she  heard  the  door  again  a  quiver  of  hope  set  her  pulses 
beating  fiercely.  The  pain  beat  with  them,  but  her  will 
over-rode  it,  and  when  she  saw  her  husband  she  faced 
him.  He  stood  there  silent  and  implacable. 

"I've  come  back,  Henry,"  she  said. 

"You  can  go  away  again." 

"I  have  nowhere  to  go." 

"That  is  your  lookout  „  .  .  and  your  lover's." 

"I  have  no  lover." 

He  shut  the  door  in  her  face.  She  beat  on  it  loudly 
with  her  hands.  Then  he  opened  it  again  and  she  saw 
that  his  face  was  grim. 

"If  you  make  a  disturbance  I  shall  'phone  for  the 
police,"  he  said.  "Go  back  to  Coverdale.  You  left  my 
house  with  him  two  days  ago.  I'll  never  receive  you 
again." 

"I  left  to  go  to  the  Gaytons'  ball.  I  wanted  to  go  to 
it  so  much." 

"I  had  forbidden  you  to  go." 

"I  should  have  been  home  yesterday,  but  the  car  broke 
down.  They  promised  to  mend  it,  but  it  took  longer 
than  they  expected.  We  tried  to  get  the  last  train  and 
just  missed  it." 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  You  will  hear  from  my 
solicitors." 


4  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Henry  ...  I  swear.  .  .  ." 

She  saw  that  he  did  not  believe  her,  and  that  he  was 
on  the  point  of  shutting  her  out  again. 

"Henry,  let  me  in!"  she  cried;  "I  must  come  in.  I 
want  Peggy." 

"Peggy  belongs  to  me." 

"I  am  her  mother." 

"You  deserted  her." 

"Only  a  day  and  a  night  ...  to  go  to  a  ball.  Let 
me  in.  Henry.  I've  no  money.  What's  to  become  of 
me?" 

"I'll  never  let  you  in  .  7  .  never.    I've  done  with  you." 

"Then  give  me  Peggy." 

"No." 

It  seemed  to  the  woman  that  the  man's  whole  body 
was  convulsed  with  rage.  His  dull,  horse-like  features 
were  as  gray  as  his  hair;  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
her  in  anger  and  dislike.  She  had  shifted  her  position 
slightly,  and  from  where  she  stood  now  she  could  see 
beyond  her  husband  into  the  inner  hall.  The  very  plants 
she  had  arranged  two  days  ago  were  on  the  central  table ; 
the  seats  were  as  she  had  left  them ;  the  warm  red  carpet 
she  had  chosen  covered  the  stairs.  This  had  been  her 
home  for  four  years,  and  her  child  was  in  it. 

"Can't  you  forgive  me?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and 
found  it  difficult  to  say. 

He  slammed  the  door  in  her  face,  turned  the  key  and 
took  it  out  of  the  lock.  She  heard  its  grating  sound  as 
he  did  so,  and  heard  him  shut  the  inner  door  a  moment 
later.  She  was  alone  in  the  dusk  and  the  snow  again  : 
uncertain  what  to  do  next. 

There  was  one  thing  she  could  do.  Major  Coverdale 
had  said  that  he  would  wait  where  she  had  left  him  in 
his  car,  till  she  let  him  know  that  all  was  well.  If  she 
went  back  to  him  her  way  would  be  easy,  easy  and 
irrevocable.  All  day  long  he  had  urged  her  to  take  it; 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  5 

urged  her  to  go  with  him,  since  they  loved  each  other, 
and  she  had  held  out  for  the  child's  sake ;  but  also  because 
the  easy  way,  offering  delight,  does  not  come  easy  to  a 
woman  of  Daphne's  traditions.  In  misery  and  bodily 
pain  she  stumbled  through  the  snow  to  the  back  of  the 
house,  thinking  that  she  would  make  one  more  effort 
either  to  gain  access  or  to  get  hold  of  her  child.  Here, 
too,  the  door  was  locked  against  her,  but  she  knocked 
on  it  softly  and  had  not  long  to  wait.  Mrs.  Butterfield, 
her  elderly  cook-housekeeper,  came  to  the  door  herself 
and  looked  at  her  young  mistress  with  concern  and 
sympathy,  but  she  did  not  let  Daphne  in.  She  mur- 
mured something  about  the  master's  orders,  and  about 
the  house  being  his,  and  not  hers,  unfortunately. 

"I  want  to  see  Miss  Peggy,"  said  Daphne. 

"She  isn't  here,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield. 

That  was  a  fresh  blow,  and  Daphne's  spirit  quailed 
under  it.  If  her  child  was  not  in  the  house  it  was  an 
empty  husk  and  yshe  had  nothing  to  seek  there,  but  how 
had  it  come  about?  Before  she  left  home  two  days  ago, 
she  had  kissed  Peggy  good-by  in  her  nursery,  and  left 
her  rosy,  well,  and  smiling. 

"Where  is  she?"  she  stammered. 

"The  master  sent  her  away  this  morning  with  Nurse." 

"Where  to?" 

"I  don't  know,  m'm.  None  of  us  were  told,  and 
Nurse  wouldn't  say  a  word.  Had  her  orders,  too,  I 
suppose." 

Daphne  turned  slowly  away. 

"Where  are  you  going  to,  m'm?"  said  the  cook,  her 
eyes  following  the  drooping  figure  turning  from  the 
house. 

"To  the  devil,"  said  Daphne  under  her  breath,  and 
heard  the  door  slam  behind  her.  It  was  done  suddenly 
as  if  in  obedience  to  orders.  Perhaps  the  master  of  the 
house  had  listened  to  their  voices  and  interfered.  Per- 


6  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

haps  Jordan,  his  mouthpiece,  had  appeared  on  the  scene. 
It  did  not  matter  much.  If  Daphne  could  have  seen 
Peggy,  snatched  her  up,  carried  her  off,  her  small,  plump 
body  clinging  warmly  to  her,  Peggy  might  have  saved 
her,  kept  her  in  the  straight  path.  .  .  . 

"It's  no  use,"  she  said  to  the  man  waiting  for  her. 
He  had  got  out  of  the  car  when  he  saw  her  coming,  and 
was  standing  beside  her  in  the  snow. 

"What  happened?" 

"He  won't  have  me  in  the  house  again." 

"Did  you  see  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Where's  Peggy?" 

"He  has  sent  her  away." 

The  man  looked  at  the  driving  snow  and  at  the  threat- 
ening sky.  Without  saying  anything  more  he  put  Daphne 
into  the  car  and  took  the  driver's  seat  himself.  He 
wanted  to  find  a  shelter  for  the  night,  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. It  would  take  twenty  minutes'  steady  driving  to 
get  to  the  hotel  he  wished  to  reach,  and  the  new  snow 
was  lying  thick  on  the  roads  already.  Before  long  all 
traffic  for  the  night  would  be  stopped  by  it.  There  was 
very  little  traffic  now :  so  little  that  he  could  think  as 
he  drove.  His  thoughts,  however,  were  not  complicated. 
He  knew  what  he  wanted  and  he  was  going  to  get  what 
he  wanted :  thanks  to  that  skunk  Henry  Twistleton.  How 
had  Daphne  ever  come  to  marry  him?  But  she  had 
told  him.  A  girl  of  eighteen  .  .  .  romantic,  poor,  gener- 
ous. ...  A  wealthy,  elderly  suitor  ...  a  persuasive 
mother  .  .  .  the  story  was  as  old  as  the  hills,  and  as 
commonplace.  Daphne  had  tried  to  do  her  duty  too. 
He  had  good  reason  to  know  that.  What  he  did  not 
know,  but  guessed  at,  was  Rhoda's  share  in  the  catas- 
trophe, and  what  she  meant  to  gain  by  it. 

"Here  we  are!"  he  said,  when  they  reached  the  hotel, 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  7 

and  he  had  opened  the  door  of  the  car.  He  spoke  in  a 
cheerful,  matter-of-fact  way,  as  if  it  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  for  him  to  arrive  at  a  well- 
known  hotel  with  Daphne  and  stay  there  with  her.  She 
got  out.  He  felt  shocked  when  he  saw  the  pallor  of  her 
face  and  the  pain  in  her  eyes :  but  he  took  her  upstairs 
as  quickly  as  he  could,  ordered  a  fire  to  be  lighted  at  once, 
and  while  this  was  being  done,  went  down  to  see  about 
his  car.  When  he  got  back  the  fire  was  burning  and 
Daphne  was  alone  in  the  room.  She  still  sat  in  the 
chair  to  which  he  had  led  her,  but  she  had  slipped  off 
her  fur  coat  and  was  staring  at  a  open  letter  in  her 
hands.  He  sat  down  close  beside  her,  took  her  hands 
in  his  and  found  that  they  were  icy  cold. 

"You're  frozen.  .  .  .  You're  ill.  .  .  .  Your  feet  are 
wet  through  with  standing  about  in  the  snow,"  he  cried. 

Without  speaking  and  without  meeting  his  eyes  she 
gave  him  the  letter  she  held  and  waited  silently  while  he 
read  it.  She  hid  her  head  when  he  came  to  the  end 
and  with  an  angry  exclamation  crushed  it  and  threw  it 
on  the  fire.  She  made  no  effort  to  reclaim  it.  The  few 
short  sentences  in  which  her  husband  accused  her  of 
infidelity  and  threatened  her  with  divorce  were  burning 
in  her  brain.  Word  for  word  she  could  remember  them. 

"I'll  take  you  to  Italy,"  said  the  man  beside  her.  "We'll 
wait  there  till  you  are  free  and  then  we'll  marry." 

"I  can't  think  to-night,"  said  the  girl,  pressing  her 
hands  to  her  eyes.  "I'm  crazy  with  pain.  I'm  frozen 
with  cold.  To-morrow.  .  .  ." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  man  slowly.     "To-morrow!" 


PART  I 

LAW 
CHAPTER    I 

THE  Twistletons  had  made  their  money  in  trade, 
and  they  had  made  a  great  deal.  Henry  Twistle- 
ton  was  the  head  of  the  firm,  and  the  head  of 
the  family.  For  some  time  past  he  had  thought  of 
retiring  from  business  and  living  at  Beda  Close,  his  house 
on  Hallinwater:  but  he  was  a  man  of  habit  and  found 
it  hard  to  uproot  himself.  He  had  found  it  hard,  four 
years  ago,  to  give  up  his  bachelor  life  and  settle  down 
as  a  married  man ;  and  he  would  probably  never  have 
done  it  if  he  had  not  wished  for  an  heir  to  whom  he 
could  leave  his  worldly  goods.  He  had  brothers,  but 
he  was  on  frigid  terms  with  them  and  their  children. 
He  thought  of  them  as  counting  on  his  money;  especially 
those  who  had  not  got  on  in  life  as  he  had,  and  he 
grudged  them  their  natural  succession. 

At  a  house  in  Yorkshire  where  he  had  gone  with  his 
gun  for  the  twelfth,  he  had  met  Daphne  Mordaunt  and 
her  mother,  and  within  a  week,  thanks  to  the  mother, 
had  arranged  that  the  girl  should  marry  him.  The 
mother  was  a  determined  woman  who  had  found  life  a 
battle,  and  had  brought  up  her  daughter  to  do  as  she 
was  told.  Here  was  a  royal  chance  for  a  penniless  girl, 
and  she  should  shut  her  eyes  and  take  it.  Daphne  did 
not  seem  unwilling.  She  was  eighteen  at  the  time,  and 
Mr.  Twistleton  was  fifty.  She  had  never  known  what  it 
was  to  possess  a  spare  sixpence,  and  he  offered  her  the 


io  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

kingdoms  of  the  world  as  far  as  they  could  be  bought 
with  money.  She  wanted  above  all  things  to  go  to  Italy, 
and  he  said  that  if  she  married  him  he  would  take  her 
there  on  their  wedding  journey.  She  thought  more  about 
Venice  than  about  him,  and  was  greatly  tempted.  She 
was  as  ignorant  of  life  as  a  child,  and  used  to  take 
her  mother's  advice  in  all  things.  Mrs.  Mordaunt,  on 
tip-toe  with  anxiety,  did  not  actually  compel,  but  pointed 
out  and  cajoled.  Poverty  was  hard  and  withering.  A 
difference  of  years  between  husband  and  wife  did  not 
matter,  when  the  years  were  with  the  man.  "Let  still 
the  woman  take  an  elder  to  herself."  Daphne  must 
please  herself,  of  course,  but  if  she  wished  her  mother 
to  die  happy.  .  .  . 

It  never  occurred  to  Daphne  even  to  think  that  it  was 
more  important  for  her  to  live  happy  than  for  her  mother 
to  die  happy.  In  those  days  she  had  not  learned  to 
criticise  her  mother's  arguments.  As  it  turned  out,  Mrs. 
Mordaunt  did  die  happy  about  a  year  later,  soon  after 
her  grandchild  Peggy  had  been  born.  She  had  not  seen 
much  of  Daphne  since  her  marriage,  and  from  the  girl's 
letters  she  judged  that  all  was  well.  Daphne  never  com- 
plained. What  could  she  have  complained  of?  She  had 
married  with  her  eyes  open,  as  the  saying  goes,  and 
knew  that  her  husband  was  elderly  and  dull.  Perhaps 
she  had  expected  him  to  be  the  affectionate  slave  of 
her  youth  and  beauty ;  instead  of  which  she  found  herself 
bound  by  his  canons  of  conduct  and  domestic  law.  She 
was  to  look  after  his  house,  be  the  mother  of  his  children, 
and  show  herself  grateful  for  the  material  comforts  she 
enjoyed  at  his  expense.  What  could  a  woman  want 
that  he  could  not  give  her?  She  found  the  house  ready 
furnished  in  a  style  she  did  not  like,  and  was  not  allowed 
to  alter;  but  she  should  not  have  been  unreasonable 
enough  to  wish  to  do  so.  He  did  let  her  choose  a  new 
stair  carpet  when  one  was  needed,  and  put  up  with 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  II 

a  red  that  was  almost  vermilion  instead  of  the  brownish 
shade  that  he  considered  practical.  She  would  have  worn 
these  flaring  colors  if  he  had  permitted  it,  but  he  quoted 
St.  Paul  to  her  and  stopped  them.  She  had  to  refuse 
dances  and  other  pleasures  because  her  husband  would 
not  go  to  such  entertainments  himself,  and  would  not 
let  her  go  without  him ;  but  what  does  a  girl  expect  when 
she  marries  a  man  thirty-two  years  older  than  herself? 
He  could  not  help  being  the  husband  of  a  young  wife 
at  home,  but  he  had  no  intention  of  playing  the  part 
abroad.  He  made  up  his  mind  about  that  on  their  wed- 
ding journey.  Daphne,  it  seemed,  was  attractive  to  young 
men.  If  permitted  they  would  have  swarmed  round  her 
like  butterflies  round  a  flowering  buddleia.  Mr.  Twistle- 
ton  was  determined  not  to  permit  it,  and  put  his  foot 
down  when  he  got  back  to  Manchester.  Daphne  had 
been  tractable  at  first.  He  had  had  no  trouble  with  her 
till  she  met  Coverdale. 

It  is  well  known  to  men  of  Mr.  Twistleton's  kind  that 
army  men  have  no  morals.  He  would  have  kept  him 
out  of  his  house  if  he  could.  But  Major  Coverdale  had 
come  there  with  Rhoda  Vyell,  the  young  widow  who 
lived  close  by  and  with  whom  Mr.  Twistleton  desired  his 
wife  to  associate.  The  two  women  had  never  made 
friends.  Daphne  said  she  did  not  like  Rhoda,  but  gave 
no  reasons.  Every  man  knows  how  mulish  a  woman  can 
be  in  such  cases.  Of  course  Mr.  Twistleton  asked  Rhoda 
to  the  house  as  often  as  he  wished,  and  of  course  Daphne 
entertained  her  civilly.  Unfortunately  all  through  the 
autumn  she  brought  Major  Coverdale  with  her,  and  Mr. 
Twistleton  had  soon  seen  that  the  young  man  and  his 
wife  were  in  love  with  each  other.  He  did  not  expect 
anything  to  come  of  it  except  heartache,  a  malady  he 
only  knew  by  hearsay  and  thought  negligible.  He  read 
the  papers  every  day  and  yet  lived  in  the  faith  that  men 
and  women  are  not  led  from  the  paths  of  prudence  by 


12  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

passion.  When  Mrs.  Vyell  proposed  that  Daphne  should 
go  with  her  to  the  Gayton  dance  in  Major  Coverdale's 
car,  he  had  forbidden  his  wife  to  accept  the  invitation. 
She  had  wept  with  vexation  and  disappointment,  but  she 
had  not  moved  him.  When  he  found  that  in  spite  of 
his  prohibition  she  had  gone,  and  gone  without  Mrs. 
Vyell,  his  wrath  consumed  him.  He  understood  why 
men  beat  women  who  anger  them. 

"Couldn't  you  have  prevented  it?"  he  had  said  to 
Rhoda,  and  she  had  answered  in  such  a  way  that  he 
understood  it  to  have  been  inevitable.  She  was  very 
sorry  to  have  failed  them  at  the  last  moment,  when  they 
came  to  her  door  to  fetch  her;  but  she  had  had  a  bad 
headache  and  did  not  feel  fit  for  such  an  expedition. 
She  could  assure  Mr.  Twistleton  that  her  defection  at 
that  particular  moment  made  no  difference.  If  they  had 
not  gone  away  together  that  day,  they  would  have  gone 
another.  For  some  time  past  Rhoda  had  seen  that  they 
were  losing  their  heads. 

"You  really  believe  .  .  ."  stuttered  Mr.  Twistleton. 

The  poor  man  could  not  bring  himself  to  say  plainly 
what  he  thought  Rhoda  really  believed,  but  he  saw  that 
she  took  a  serious  view. 

"I'll  wait  up  for  them,"  he  said.  "I'll  let  Daphne  in 
myself,  and  when  she  sees  how  angry  I  am.  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Vyell  had  smiled  and  advised  him  to  go  to  bed. 
He  had  not  taken  her  advice.  He  had  sat  up  all  night 
and  in  the  course  of  his  bitter  vigil  he  had  thought  of 
her  smile  many  times.  She  knew  more  than  she  would 
say.  How  much  did  she  know?  Next  day  he  would 
see  her  again  and  question  her  closely.  She  was  a  clever 
woman :  clever  and  handsome,  but  difficult  to  understand. 
Not  transparent  like  Daphne:  but  it  was  Daphne  who 
had  betrayed  him.  Of  course,  Rhoda  was  an  older 
woman  than  his  wife.  About  twenty-nine  or  thirty,  he 
supposed.  He  wondered  she  had  never  married  again. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  13 

Poor  Vyell  had  died  five  years  ago  and  left  her  badly 
provided  for;  but  she  made  a  little  go  a  long  way.  She 
lived  in  that  small  house  with  her  only  child  and  two 
maids,  and  the  house  was  well  run  on  next  to  nothing. 
Mr.  Twistleton  knew,  because  he  was  poor  Vyell's  acting 
executor,  and  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  Rhoda  after 
her  husband's  death.  At  one  time  it  had  even  crossed 
his  mind  .  .  .  but  then  he  had  gone  to  Yorkshire,  met 
Daphne  and  come  back  an  affianced  man.  He  remem- 
bered breaking  the  news  to  Rhoda.  It  had  been  an 
uncomfortable  thing  to  do.  She  had  not  liked  it;  he 
saw  that ;  but  she  had  taken  it  well.  She  was  a  quiet, 
self-contained  woman,  not  lively  and  high-spirited  like 
Daphne.  She  had  strange,  fixed  eyes  with  heavy  lids, 
wide  nostrils,  and  a  mouth  that  was  usually  tightly  shut. 
Her  wavy  hair  was  quite  black  and  grew  low  on  her 
temples,  and  in  the  whites  of  her  eyes  there  was  a  tinge 
of  blue.  She  moved  slowly  and  with  grace,  and  she 
dressed  well.  Daphne  had  once  said  with  a  shudder 
that  Rhoda  had  a  cruel  mouth ;  but  Daphne's  opinion 
did  not  count.  She  had  been  willing  enough  lately  to 
frequent  Rhoda's  house  and  meet  Major  Coverdale  there. 
Mr.  Twistleton  would  have  stopped  this  if  he  had  known 
where  it  would  lead ;  but  at  first  Rhoda  had  reassured 
him.  Now  she  blamed  herself,  now  that  it  was  too  late. 

For  forty-eight  hours  Mr.  Twistleton  had  waited  and 
raged ;  gone  to  Rhoda  for  advice ;  suffered  in  his  pride ; 
made  his  plans.  A  telegram  had  come  from  Daphne 
saying  that  she  had  spent  the  night  with  the  Gaytons, 
and  would  be  back  to  dinner.  Rhoda's  incredulous  smile 
as  she  read  it  confirmed  his  suspicions.  When  night 
came  and  still  his  wife  did  not  return,  Mr.  Twistleton 
knew  what  he  was  going  to  do.  In  the  morning  he  sent 
Peggy  and  her  nurse  to  his  sister  at  Alderly  Edge. 

"I  think  Daphne  will  come  back,"  Rhoda  had  said. 
"She  will  come  back  to  her  child." 


14  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"She  has  forfeited  all  right  to  her  child,"  said  Mr. 
Twistleton  savagely. 

Rhoda  had  sighed,  but  agreed  with  him.  All  through 
his  trouble  she  had  showed  herself  discreet  and  sym- 
pathetic. 

Mr.  Twistleton  could  not  have  told  you  when  the 
thought  of  marrying  her  first  came  into  his  mind  again. 
On  general  principles  he  disapproved  of  divorce:  said 
it  put  a  premium  on  immorality.  He  did  not  wish  to 
hear  that  Daphne  had  married  Major  Coverdale.  On 
the  contrary  he  would  have  wished  her  to  do  penance  in 
a  sheet  and  drag  out  the  rest  of  her  dishonored  life 
pointed  at  and  avoided  like  a  plague.  Again  Rhoda 
agreed  with  him,  but  sighed.  She  was  a  fascinating 
woman,  certainly:  always  the  same;  always  at  leisure 
to  listen  to  a  man  and  say  just  what  pleased  him.  So 
different  from  Daphne,  who  had  been  smiles  one  moment 
and  tears  the  next,  with  a  quick  temper  of  her  own  and 
bent  on  pleasure.  Not  that  Daphne's  temper  had  ever 
ruffled  Mr.  Twistleton.  He  had  known  how  to  deal  with 
it.  Still,  a  man  marries  in  order  to  have  the  blessings 
and  advantages  of  connubial  life  with  the  least  possible 
trouble  to  himself.  Daphne  had  not  been  a  good  house- 
keeper. She  had  left  everything  to  the  old  servants  she 
found  in  the  house  when  she  came  to  it  as  a  bride,  and 
had  amused  herself  with  flowers,  books,  and  music.  She 
played  the  piano  well,  but  as  Mr.  Twistleton  did  not 
know  one  note  from  another,  he  had  only  listened  to  her 
when  other  people  were  present,  and  invited  her  to  per- 
form. She  did  not  play  cards,  and  never  seemed  able 
to  learn,  although  at  one  time  he  had  tried  to  teach  her. 
In  fact,  she  had  been  a  failure  from  beginning  to  end. 
Peggy  ought  to  have  been  a  boy.  So  Mr.  Twistleton 
mused  and  grumbled ;  while  Rhoda  Vyell  knitted  herself 
a  jade  green  jersey  and  put  in  a  word  here  and  there 
that  gradually  led  a  dull,  middle-aged  gentleman  to  be- 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  15 

lieve  that  life  still  held  consolations.  At  the  proper  time 
he  instituted  proceedings  for  divorce,  and  as  soon  as 
it  was  legally  possible  he  married  Rhoda.  He  enjoyed 
his  second  honeymoon.  Rhoda  was  a  woman,  not  a 
child;  old  enough  to  be  a  companion,  young  enough  to 
please.  She  spent  a  great  deal  of  money  and  accepted 
everything  he  gave  her  as  a  matter  of  course.  In  fact, 
he  often  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  he  was  not 
giving  her  as  much  as  she  expected.  The  jewels  that 
had  been  good  enough  for  Daphne  were  not  good  enough 
for  her.  She  took  possession  of  them  but  wanted  others 
more  rare  and  valuable.  Although  she  had  bought  her- 
self a  great  many  clothes  when  she  married  again,  she 
bought  a  great  many  more  with  her  husband's  money 
when  they  were  in  Paris  together.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  limit  to  the  personal  luxury  with  which  she  liked 
to  surround  herself.  When  she  got  everything  she 
wanted,  she  was  even-tempered,  but  beneath  her  quiet 
manner  something  smoldered  that  Mr.  Twistleton  had 
not  suspected  and  hardly  understood  yet.  He  saw  a 
glimpse  of  it  one  day  in  the  Bois,  when  a  tiny  child, 
badly  dressed  and  dirty,  came  too  close  to  her.  Before 
she  noticed  it,  a  small  grimy  paw  had  clutched  at  a  bit  of 
gay  embroidery  on  her  frock,  and  left  a  little  finger-mark 
on  the  delicate  fabric  of  which  the  frock  was  made.  She 
had  risen  to  her  feet  in  a  fury,  given  the  child  a  shove 
that  left  it  sprawling  on  the  ground,  and  walked  on. 
The  child  was  hurt  and  frightened  by  the  fall  and  wailed 
loudly,  but  she  never  turned  her  head.  Mr.  Twistleton 
picked  it  up  and  restored  it  to  an  elder  sister,  who  looked 
frightened  herself  and  was  not  old  enough  to  remon- 
strate. 

"That  child  hurt  its  arm  badly  as  it  fell,"  he  said 
when  he  rejoined  her. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  after  a  silence  that  he  felt 
was  hostile  began  to  talk  of  something  else.  When 


16  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

they  got  back  to  their  hotel  they  found  letters  and  papers 
awaiting  them,  and  when  Mr.  Twistleton  opened  his 
Times  he  saw  the  announcement  of  Daphne's  marriage 
to  Major  Coverdale.  This  angered  him  deeply,  and  at 
great  length  he  proceeded  to  expound  his  views  with 
regard  to  unfaithful  wives.  They  had  not  moved  much 
since  the  time  when  such  sinners  were  burned  at  the  stake. 

"Has  Coverdale  money?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Rhoda.     "He  has  a  good  deal." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Twistleton. 

The  second  Mrs.  Twistleton's  half-closed  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  her  perturbed  mate  with  derision. 

"I  don't  think  he  has  as  much  as  you,"  she  said,  "but 
he  has  more  than  enough  for  Daphne.  She  never  seemed 
to  want  anything  but  Peggy  and  her  piano." 

"She  hasn't  got  Peggy,"  said  Mr.  Twistleton,  and  that 
idea  seemed  to  give  him  satisfaction. 

"No,  we  have  Peggy,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 


CHAPTER   II 

TTVEGGY  woke  earlier  than  usual  because  it  was  her 
r^  birthday:  her  ninth  birthday.  She  did  not  expect 
anything  exciting  to  happen;  at  least,  nothing 
pleasant.  But  when  you  are  nine  you  never  know.  You 
are  too  old  to  believe  in  fairies,  but  you  are  young 
enough  to  think  that  what  happens  to  other  children 
might  equally  well  happen  to  you.  Suppose  you  went 
downstairs  to  breakfast  instead  of  having  it  in  the  school- 
room with  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel:  and  suppose  your 
father  and  mother  kissed  you  good-morning,  wished  you 
many  happy  returns  and  led  you  up  to  a  surprise  table 
full  of  presents.  Everything  you  wanted  most!  A  fish- 
ing-rod, a  fox-terrier  puppy  (but  he  couldn't  be  on  the 
table),  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales,  a  big  birthday  cake!  Iced! 
Pink  and  white,  with  letters  on  it.  At  tea-time  it  would 
have  nine  little  lighted  candles  on  it,  and  you,  Peggy, 
would  be  allowed  to  cut  it,  and  all  the  children  who  had 
come  to  tea  with  you  would  have  some.  After  tea  there 
would  be  games,  and  last  of  all  little  glasses  of  lemonade 
and  cakes.  .  .  . 

There  would  be  no  children,  there  would  be  no  cakes 
and  probably  no  presents.  All  these  joys  had  been 
showered  on  Celia  Aysgarth  last  week  and  Mabel  had 
been  allowed  to  go  to  the  birthday  party.  She  had 
brought  home  the  glittering  account  of  it  that  fed  Peggy's 
dreams,  but  Peggy  had  forfeited  all  right  to  be  treated 
like  a  well-behaved  child.  She  was  bad:  as  bad  as  a 
child  can  be.  Everyone  said  so;  even  Paterson,  the 
head  gardener  who  had  been  kind  to  her  when  she  first 
came  to  Beda  Close.  He  used  to  call  her  into  one  of 
the  sheds  and  give  her  flowers  or  fruit  sometimes,  but 


i8  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

he  never  did  so  now.  It  was  as  much  as  his  place  was 
worth,  he  told  her.  Besides,  one  day  not  long  ago  when 
she  had  felt  frozen  with  cold  and  dazed  with  crying  she 
had  gone  into  his  peach  house  and  hidden  there :  for 
she  had  known  where  to  find  the  key.  Unfortunately 
she  came  out  of  it  in  a  fright  and  a  hurry  and  left  the 
door  open.  There  had  been  a  sharp  frost  that  night  and 
the  tragic  sequel  of  her  carelessness  was  that  the  man- 
sion, as  the  servants  called  the  house,  would  have  to 
send  to  Manchester  for  its  peaches  this  summer  or  go 
without.  Paterson  did  not  understand  what  it  meant  to 
feel  so  frightened  that  you  turned  stupid  and  ran  head- 
long, anywhere,  so  that  it  was  far  enough.  Not  that 
it  ever  answered.  Someone  officious  is  sure  to  find  you 
and  bring  you  back:  and  then  you  are  punished.  Be- 
sides, though  you  start  running  blindly,  sooner  or  later 
you  reflect  that  you  have  nowhere  to  go  and  that  night  is 
coming  and  that  you  are  hungry  and  tired.  Peggy  was 
only  nine,  but  she  had  discovered  that  escape  without 
help  was  impossible.  She  did  not  even  think  of  it  as  a 
rule.  A  child  of  her  age  accepts  her  fate  and  lives  in 
the  present.  On  the  morning  of  her  birthday,  although 
she  was  not  supposed  to  get  up  till  she  was  called,  she 
stole  out  of  bed  and  looked  through  the  window  at  the 
lake.  The  sun  was  shining  on  it,  and  the  hills  on  the 
opposite  shore  were  fast  emerging  from  the  broken  and 
delicate  veils  of  mist  that  had  hidden  them  at  dawn. 
The  thrush  that  had  a  nest  just  beneath  the  window  was 
flying  to  and  fro  with  food  for  her  young.  By  leaning 
still  further  over  the  sill  Peggy  might  catch  sight  of  their 
heads  with  their  beaks  all  turned  upwards  for  their  meal. 
She  had  done  so  yesterday  successfully.  She  would  do 
so  again  to-day,  very  carefully  and  quietly,  so  that  Miss 
Busby  did  not  hear  her.  If  she  took  a  stick  and  pushed 
back  the  branches  of  the  creeper  from  the  nest  she  would 
be  able  to  see  still  better.  The  baby  thrushes  would  not 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  19 

mind,  and  the  mother  thrush  would  be  glad  because  it 
would  be  easier  to  get  to  the  nest.  Peggy  came  back 
from  the  window  and  looked  round  the  room  for  a  stick. 

"Peggy!" 

The  child  started  and  stared  at  the  disheveled  figure 
of  the  woman  who  had  just  come  into  the  room.  It  was 
Miss  Busby,  the  governess,  who  slept  in  the  adjoining 
room  with  Mabel  and  was  regarded  with  derision  and  a 
half-tolerant  dislike  by  both  her  pupils.  She  had  a 
foolish,  fretful  face  and  round  pale  eyes,  and  her  voice 
was  squeakily  complaining. 

"Peggy !  you  know  you  are  not  allowed  to  get  up  till 
I  call  you.  I  don't  want  to  punish  you  on  your  birth- 
day, but  I  ought  to.  Many  happy  returns  and  here  is  a 
little  present  for  you.  But  what  a  troublesome  child 
you  are,  with  your  bare  feet  on  the  floor  when  there 
might  be  pins  or  needles  about.  I  know  someone  who 
had  to  have  a  needle  cut  out  of  her  foot  and  the  cut 
festered  and  hot  poultices  had  to  be  applied.  You  would 
not  like  that,  you  know,  and  you  have  bedroom  slippers." 

Peggy  had  taken  the  wrapped-up  parcel  from  Miss 
Busby's  hands  and  was  undoing  the  wrapper.  She  hardly 
heard  what  the  governess  said.  It  was  so  exciting  to 
have  a  birthday  and  a  present  before  breakfast.  She 
did  not  like  Miss  Busby  much :  and  especially  not  in 
the  early  morning  when  the  governess  was  without  her 
false  teeth  and  her  false  plait,  unwashed  and  uncombed. 
Her  person  offended  Peggy's  fastidious  instincts,  and 
so  did  her  shabby  old  flannel  dressing-gown,  and  her 
red  quilted  bedroom  slippers  torn  at  the  toes.  But  it 
was  very  kind  of  her  to  have  crocheted  Peggy  a  cap 
and  coat  for  her  big  doll  Selina.  Peggy  did  not  play 
with  dolls  much  now.  She  was  getting  rather  old  for 
them  and  they  never  had  appealed  to  her  as  they  had 
to  Mabel.  However,  she  still  possessed  Selina.  The  cap 
was  black  and  the  coat  was  black  and  yellow  like  a  wasp. 


20  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Peggy.  "Now  we  can 
have  a  murder  trial  and  Selina  can  be  the  judge.  I 
found  a  dead  mole  yesterday  and  hid  it  in  case  I  should 
want  it.  I  don't  suppose  it  will  be  very  bad  yet." 

Miss  Busby  called  her  a  horrid  child  and  thrust  her 
back  into  bed.  There  she  had  to  lie  till  the  housemaid 
came  with  hot  water  and  early  tea  for  the  adjoining 
room.  Even  then  she  was  not  allowed  to  get  up  and 
dress  herself.  Mabel,  who  was  eleven,  did.  Mabel  went 
into  the  bathroom  belonging  to  the  schoolroom  wing  and 
had  an  agreeable  warm  bath  that  she  adjusted  for  her- 
self :  but  Peggy  had  to  wait  till  Miss  Busby  had  finished 
her  early  tea  and  was  ready  to  give  her  the  cold  bath 
ordered  for  her.  She  never  got  used  to  it  or  liked  it, 
but  she  had  to  endure  it  every  morning.  Miss  Busby 
was  not  an  agreeable  bath  attendant.  She  would  not 
get  up  till  the  last  moment  and  then  she  did  everything 
in  a  hurry:  plunging  Peggy  suddenly  into  the  ice-cold 
water  and  scolding  her  if  she  wriggled.  The  soap  went 
into  her  eyes,  the  shock  took  her  breath  away,  the  rough 
towel  scrubbed  her  painfully.  Even  on  her  birthday,  in 
April,  Peggy's  teeth  chattered  with  cold  as  she  tried  to 
dress  herself  in  the  bedroom.  Mabel  came  in  before  she 
had  finished,  wished  her  many  happy  returns,  and 
presented  her  with  a  large  spotted  china  cat.  Mabel 
liked  china  cats,  but  she  might  have  known  that  Peggy 
did  not.  What  can  you  do  with  a  china  cat  except  put 
it  on  a  shelf  and  see  that  it  is  hideous? 

"Thank  you,"  said  Peggy  politely. 

"I  don't  believe  you  like  it,"  said  Mabel. 

She  was  a  pretty  child  in  a  dull  way.  She  had  dark 
curly  hair,  empty  eyes,  a  straight  nose  and  a  small  but- 
ton mouth.  She  never  seemed  to  have  a  hair  of  her 
head  or  a  fold  of  her  clothes  in  disarray,  and  she  was  as 
vain  as  a  peacock.  In  choosing  a  present  for  Peggy  she 
had  not  considered  her  step-sister's  tastes  for  a  moment. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  21 

She  had  bought  the  cat  because  it  pleased  her,  and  she 
was  ready  to  feel  aggrieved  if  it  did  not  please  Peggy. 

"I  do  like  it  rather,"  said  Peggy,  still  trying  to  be 
polite. 

Then  a  most  unfortunate  thing  happened.  Her  fingers 
were  still  numb  with  cold  and  were  trying  to  hold  the 
cat  and  fasten  her  frock  at  the  same  time;  and  the 
cat  slipped  from  them  and  smashed  in  fragments  on 
the  bare  floor.  There  was  a  small  carpet  in  the  room, 
but  the  cat  fell  just  outside  it.  Mabel  gave  tongue  in  a 
wail  that  brought  Miss  Busby  on  the  scene  helter-skelter. 

"What  has  she  done  to  you?"  she  cried,  addressing 
Mabel. 

"Br-r-roken  my  cat — on  purpose!"  howled  Mabel. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she  has  broken  the  cat 
you  bought  her  with  your  pocket-money  for  her  birthday 
— just  thrown  it  on  the  floor  and  smashed  it  to  atoms?" 

Mabel  sobbed  more  loudly  than  before,  and  nodded 
her  head.  Peggy's  eyes  filled  with  tears  too.  It  was 
dreadful  the  way  things  hippened  even  on  your  birth- 
day: and  it  was  no  use  to^ay  you  were  sorry,  because 
you  would  not  be  believed.  Besides,  you  were  not  very 
sorry.  You  did  hate  china  cats,  and  Mabel  knew  it. 
This  one  had  been  spotted  and  the  ugliest  Peggy  had 
ever  seen ;  still,  she  would  not  have  broken  it  on  purpose. 
She  would  have  kept  it  a  little  while,  and  then  presented 
it  to  Mabel  for  her  collection  of  china  animals,  which 
was  large  and  various. 

"What  is  all  this  noise?"  said  a  low,  level  voice  at 
the  open  door.  And  there  stood  Mother,  in  her  em- 
broidered scarlet  dressing-gown  that  came  from  China, 
and  had  dragons  on  it.  She  was  not  Mother  really,  but 
you  had  to  call  her  so,  although  you  remembered  your 
real  mother  quite  well,  and  a  frock  she  sometimes  wore 
when  she  took  you  on  her  knee  and  called  you  her  lady- 
bird and  her  pigeon.  It  was  a  blue  frock  with  a  bit  of 

4^ 


22  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

fur  near  the  neck  that  you  called  your  pussy  and  liked 
to  stroke. 

"Come  here!"  said  Mother,  when  she  had  heard  Miss 
Busby's  story,  which  was  borne  out  by  Mabel's  tear- 
stained  face ;  and  you  had  to  go,  though  you  knew  she 
would  hurt  you.  But  if  you  did  not  go  she  would  hurt 
you  more.  She  had  Carlo  with  her  this  morning,  the 
great  black  cat  which  followed  her  everywhere  and 
arched  his  back  at  you  if  you  tried  to  play  with  him. 
When  he  was  not  with  Mother  he  was  in  the  garden 
stalking  birds.  Sometimes  he  brought  one  in,  and  last 
week  Peggy  had  found  him  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  hall 
mumbling  over  a  baby  rabbit  that  he  had  half  killed 
and  eaten.  He  was  a  wicked  cat,  and  when  Peggy  saw 
him  padding  after  the  scarlet  dressing-gown,  she  won- 
dered whether  he  would  go  with  Mother  if  ever  she  went 
up  in  the  skies  on  a  broomstick.  Mother  was  not  thin 
enough  for  a  witch  and  she  had  not  a  nut-cracker  nose 
and  chin,  but  everyone  knows  that  when  a  witch  is  clever 
she  can  disguise  herself. 

"Come  here,"  she  said  again,  and  Peggy  went,  her 
heart  in  her  shoes. 

"Pick  up  those  pieces  and  bring  them  to  me,"  she 
ordered,  and  Peggy  knelt  down  to  do  as  she  was  told. 
While  she  was  on  her  knees  she  heard  Miss  Busby  and 
Mabel  leave  the  room,  and  that  frightened  her.  It  was 
always  worse  when  she  was  alone  with  Mother  than 
when  other  people  were  present. 

"You  broke  it  on  purpose." 

The  woman  towered  above  the  shrinking  child,  power- 
ful and  implacable. 

"It  slipped,"  said  Peggy,  her  breath  so  affected  by 
fright  that  she  could  hardly  speak. 

"Confess  that  you  did  it  on  purpose." 

"But  I  didn't!"  cried  Peggy. 

"You  lie.     No  one  believes  what  you  say.     You  did 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  23 

it  to  spite  Mabel  because  you  are  jealous  of  her.  You 
like  to  vex  her  and  hurt  her  feelings." 

"It  slipped,"  reiterated  Peggy,  and  instinctively  put 
up  her  arm  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow.  Mrs.  Twistleton 
seized  it,  pulled  the  child  to  her  feet  and  shook  her 
violently  over  and  over  again.  Peggy  had  a  confused 
impression  of  her  step-mother's  hard,  set  mouth,  with 
its  cruel  corners,  as  she  did  this,  and  of  the  look  in  her 
eyes.  She  felt  bruised  and  dizzy  when  at  last  she  was 
thrown  back  upon  the  floor,  and  thrown  so  roughly  that 
she  fell  forward  upon  the  broken  china.  It  hurt  horribly, 
and  she  could  not  keep  back  a  scream  of  pain. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself?"  said  Miss 
Busby  and  Mabel  a  moment  later.  Mrs.  Twistleton  had 
taken  no  notice  of  Peggy's  cry,  but  had  moved  slowly 
past  the  open  schoolroom  door,  along  the  corridor  to 
her  own  quarters.  The  heavy  scent  she  used  still  clung 
to  the  air,  when  the  governess  and  Mabel  crossed  her 
path  in  order  to  see  what  had  happened  to  the  family 
black  sheep  this  time.  As  a  rule  after  a  scene  with 
her  step-mother  she  was  discovered  on  the  bed  tearful, 
sore,  raging  and  humiliated,  but  to-day  she  was  not  on 
the  bed.  She  crouched  on  the  floor  dazed  and  pallid, 
while  the  blood  streamed  from  a  cut  on  her  cheek.  Mabel 
stared  at  her  step-sister  and  then  turned  away. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  come  in,"  she  said  plaintively.  "The 
sight  of  blood  always  upsets  me.  Can't  Peggy  have 
breakfast  in  here,  Miss  Busby?  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  eat 
mine  if  I  look  at  her." 

"Go  and  eat  yours  now,"  said  the  governess.  "By 
the  time  I  have  seen  to  Peggy  you  will  have  nearly 
finished.  How  did  it  happen,  Peggy?" 

Peggy  waited  until  Mabel  was  out  of  the  room,  and 
then  with  a  catch  in  her  voice  said,  "She  shook  me  as 
hard  as  she  could  and  then  threw  me  down.  I  feel  sick 
and  funny  in  my  head,  and  look  at  my  frockl" 


24  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"Dear,  dear!"  said  Miss  Busby.  "I  never  saw  such 
a  child  for  bringing  trouble  on  herself  and  others.  The 
breakfast  will  be  stone  cold  by  the  time  we  get  it.  Why 
did  you  break  the  cat?" 

"It  slipped,"  said  Peggy  wearily  for  the  third  time. 


CHAPTER    III 

IT  was  just  as  bad  after  breakfast  as  it  had  been 
before.  Father  came  into  the  schoolroom  and  said 
that  as  you  had  been  disobedient  and  ungrateful  you 
could  not  have  the  sovereign  he  had  intended  to  give 
you ;  and  lessons  must  be  done  as  usual :  and  after  lunch, 
which  was  your  dinner,  you  would  have  to  learn  three 
verses  of  "Eugene  Aram"  and  repeat  them  to  Mother 
when  you  went  down  at  five  o'clock.  You  knew  it  was 
wrong  to  think  of  a  present  before  you  got  it.  Miss 
Busby  always  told  you  so,  and  when  Father  had  gone 
she  said  it  was  a  judgment  on  you.  Perhaps  it  was:  but 
if  Mabel  had  given  you  something  soft  instead  of  a  china 
cat  you  would  not  have  broken  it:  and  then  you  would 
have  had  your  birthday  sovereign  as  Mabel  had  hers  a 
month  ago:  and  you  would  have  been  able  to  buy  a 
fox-terrier  pup  when  they  arrived  at  Dixon's  cottage. 
Dixon  had  told  you  that  he  had  ordered  three  or  four 
and  expected  them  any  day  and  that  you  should  have 
the  pick  of  the  bunch  for  a  sovereign.  Now  you  would 
have  to  tell  him  that  you  could  not  buy  one.  But  you 
were  not  to  go  out  this  afternoon.  That  was  the  worst 
of  all.  Not  to  go  out  on  a  day  like  this  when  the  birds 
were  singing,  and  it  was  warm  enough  to  be  on  the  lake, 
and  all  the  trees  were  bursting  into  leaf.  Even  if  you 
could  have  stayed  at  home  and  read  the  "Arabian  Nights" 
you  might  have  enjoyed  yourself,  and  looked  forward  to 
going  out  to-morrow ;  but  the  "Arabian  Nights"  belonged 
to  Mabel  and  she  would  not  lend  it  to  you,  although  she 
never  read  it  herself.  She  said  she  did  not  want  it  dogV 


26  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

eared  and  pointed  to  your  poetry  book.  But  that  had 
not  been  new  when  you  had  it.  Besides,  you  generally 
had  to  learn  verses  when  you  had  been  naughty,  and 
some  of  your  naughtiness  did  at  times  vent  itself  on  a 
book  associated  with  punishment.  You  liked  a  great 
many  of  the  poems  in  it,  but  you  never  liked  those  set 
for  you  to  learn.  Some  were  dull  and  some  were  hor- 
rible. You  did  not  care  much  for  "Lucy  Gray"  and 
you  hated  "King  Crocodile."  Celia  Aysgarth  had  an 
enchanting  book  about  a  crocodile  pulling  a  baby  ele- 
phant by  its  nose,  but  that  did  not  frighten  you  as  the 
poem  did.  Besides,  however  well  you  learned  your 
verses,  you  would  stammer  and  stumble  when  you  tried 
to  say  them  to  Mother.  When  her  eyes  fixed  themselves 
on  you  something  went  dead  and  silly  in  your  brain, 
so  that  you  forgot  what  you  had  known  as  well 
while  you  came  downstairs.  Afterwards  you  would  re- 
member it  perfectly,  but  that  was  not  much  use,  especially 
when  the  poem  you  had  been  made  to  learn  was  one 
that  you  wished  you  could  forget.  You  had  always 
hurried  past  "The  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram,"  but  now 
you  knew  most  of  it  by  heart,  and  could  not  get  it  out 
of  your  mind : 

Of  lonely  folk  cut  off  unseen 
And  hid  in  sudden  graves: 
Of  horrid  stabs  in  groves  forlorn 
And  murders  done  in  caves. 

As  long  as  it  was  light  you  could  forget  it,  and  so  you 
could  while  other  people  were  with  you.  It  was  when 
you  were  shut  up  in  an  attic  or  a  garden  shed  .  .  . 
locked  in  so  that  no  one  could  let  you  out  except  Mother, 
who  would  not  come  even  if  you  screamed.  Miss  Busby 
knew  the  most  dreadful  murder  stories  and  liked  telling 
them,  but  she  never  told  them  to  Mabel.  Sometimes 
you  wished  she  would  not  tell  them  to  you,  but  it  was 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  27 

rather  difficult  not  to  listen  when  she  was  in  one  of  her 
kind  moods  and  let  you  look  at  her  picture  paper. 

And  unknown  facts  of  guilty  acts 
Are  seen  in  dreams  from  God ! 

That  had  come  into  the  verses  you  had  learned  last 
week,  and  you  had  been  obliged  to  say  them  over  ten 
times  because  they  were  about  you  as  well  as  about 
Eugene  Aram.  It  meant  that  the  eye  of  God  saw  your 
wickedness  and  would  punish  it.  You  might  hide  things 
on  earth  if  you  were  clever  and  deceitful,  but  you  could 
not  hide  anything  from  Heaven.  You  hardly  knew  your- 
self whether  you  were  glad  or  sorry  when  the  china  cat 
was  broken.  But  Heaven  knew  and  judged  you  accord- 
ingly. At  least  Miss  Busby  said  so,  and  she  was  very 
religious.  She  said  everything  was  known  beforehand 
and  that  it  was  written  in  the  book  of  Fate  whether 
you  would  grow  up  so  wicked  that  some  day  you  would 
commit  a  murder  as  Eugene  Aram  did,  and  be  hanged. 
A  horrible  verse  would  have  to  be  learned  and  repeated 
to-day.  Not  that  it  needed  learning.  You  knew  every 
word,  although  you  always  tried  not  to  look  at  it: 

Two  sudden  blows  with  a  ragged  stick, 
And  one  with  a  heavy  stone, 
One  hurried  gash  with  a  hasty  knife, 
And  then  the  deed  was  done : 
There  was  nothing  lying  at  my  feet 
But  lifeless  flesh  and  bone. 

It  was  true.  It  was  real.  Many  years  ago  it  had 
happened  to  a  poor  old  man.  Miss  Busby  had  found  an 
account  of  it  in  one  of  the  old  books  in  the  library 
downstairs,  and  had  read  it  aloud.  She  said  you  were  to 
remember  that  Eugene  Aram  had  not  always  been  a 
murderer,  but  only  a  young  man  with  evil  proclivities, 


28  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

and  that  if  you  were  born  with  evil  proclivities  you 
should  be  grateful  to  the  elders  who  corrected  them. 

With  a  start  Peggy  came  out  of  these  speculative 
troubles  into  the  actual  one  of  a  lesson  on  the  geography 
of  Italy,  to  which  she  had  not  been  attending  properly. 
She  was  never  allowed  to  sit  opposite  the  window,  be- 
cause she  looked  out  when  she  should  not  have  done, 
but  even  on  the  schoolroom  wall  the  sunlight  was  dancing 
to-day  and  making  patterns.  She  watched  it  while  Miss 
Busby  fussed  and  scolded  and  said  that  if  she  did  not 
point  to  Florence,  Rome,  and  Naples  instantly  she  should 
go  without  her  milk  and  biscuits  at  eleven.  Then  she 
looked  at  her  open  atlas  and  saw  an  indistinguishable 
network  of  names  on  a  dark  background.  Mabel  had 
one  with  a  sensible  light  background,  but  Peggy  knew 
that  she  would  not  be  allowed  to  use  it.  She  would 
only  be  told  that  she  had  an  envious  disposition,  and 
probably  get  rapped  over  the  knuckles  by  Miss  Busby's 
ruler.  Miss  Busby  was  not  cruel.  She  did  not  exactly 
enjoy  hurting  you.  There  was  only  one  person  in  the 
world  as  bad  as  that,  but  Miss  Busby  had  an  irritable 
temper,  especially  when  she  had  not  slept  well  and  felt 
her  neuralgia  coming  on.  Once  she  had  been  engaged 
to  a  curate  and  the  curate  had  jilted  her  for  a  creature 
with  golden  hair  and  money.  Miss  Busby  always  spoke 
of  her  rival  as  a  creature,  and  she  told  Peggy  that  for  a 
single  moment  she  had  known  what  it  felt  like  to  wish 
to  put  an  enemy  out  of  the  way.  But  she  had  conquered 
her  evil  passions  as  Peggy  must  learn  to  do.  Peggy's 
head  ached  this  morning  and  she  wanted  her  milk  and 
biscuits  badly.  She  could  not  find  any  of  the  names 
demanded  of  her,  partly  because  Miss  Busby  hammered 
on  the  table  impatiently  and  drank  her  own  glass  of 
milk  with  a  gurgling  sound  that  was  unpleasant. 

Peggy  was  a  thin,  nervous-looking  child  with  greenish 
eyes  that  were  both  scared  and  dare-devil,  and  with  a 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  29 

mop  of  short,  copper-colored  hair.  Her  little  life  had 
been  a  sea  of  troubles  for  years,  either  because  her  step- 
mother was  wicked,  or  because  she  was  wicked  herself. 
She  never  felt  quite  sure  which.  In  the  stories  she  knew 
about  cruel  step-mothers  the  child  was  always  blameless 
and  holy.  She  was  never  a  tomboy  that  tumbles  out  of 
one  scrape  into  another.  Peggy  would  have  been  blame- 
less and  holy  if  she  could.  But  things  were  so  difficult. 
This  morning,  for  instance,  she  ought  to  have  attended 
to  her  geography  lesson  instead  of  allowing  her  fancy  to 
engage  itself  with  painted  terrors.  Mabel  was  different. 
She  was  afraid  of  everything  she  could  touch  and  of 
nothing  she  could  only  think  about.  But  Mabel  was 
stupid:  and  as  for  being  fond  of  her,  you  might  as  well 
be  fond  of  that  wooden  idol  in  the  toy  cupboard  that  had 
come  long  ago  from  the  South  Seas.  Mabel  was  pretty 
and  the  idol  was  hideous,  but  they  were  both  wooden 
and  had  dollish  eyes.  Mabel  was  greedy  too.  She  had 
eaten  a  large  breakfast  this  morning  and  Peggy  had 
eaten  hardly  anything;  and  yet  she  had  just  stretched 
out  her  hand  towards  Peggy's  biscuits  after  having 
finished  her  own.  It  was  more  than  Peggy  could  bear. 
Beneath  Miss  Busby's  very  eyes  she  snatched  up  the 
remaining  biscuit  and  crammed  it  into  her  mouth  before 
the  affronted  governess  could  stop  her.  The  map  of 
Italy  was  forgotten  in  this  new  instance  of  rank  rebellion 
that  had  to  be  dealt  with  summarily.  The  rest  of  the 
morning  passed  like  a  nightmare  with  Peggy  in  the  corner 
and  Miss  Busby  groaning  over  her  neuralgia  and  the 
miseries  of  her  lot.  When  the  gong  went  for  lunch  she 
forgot  to  make  Peggy  wash  her  face  and  hands,  and 
Peggy  forgot  that  the  gash  on  her  face  needed  attention. 
She  ran  downstairs  ahead  of  Miss  Busby  without  realiz- 
ing that  her  cut  cheek,  tear-stained  eyes,  and  her  dirty 
pinafore  were  unpresentable.  It  was  dreadful,  because 
there  were  guests  to  lunch:  people  who  stared  and 


30  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

smiled:  while  Father  looked  like  thunder  and  Mother 
came  slowly  towards  the  door  and  whispered  angrily  to 
Miss  Busby,  who  was  just  behind.  Peggy  heard  enough 
to  know  that  she  had  done  something  awful  again,  and 
that  Miss  Busby  was  trying  to  excuse  herself.  Then 
Mother  went  back  to  her  guests,  and  Peggy  was  pushed 
out  of  the  room. 

"You  are  not  to  go  in  to  lunch,"  said  Miss  Busby, 
when  she  got  outside  the  door.  "You  are  to  go  back  to 
the  schoolroom." 

"But  I'm  dreadfully  hungry,"  said  Peggy. 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Miss  Busby,  and  went  back 
into  the  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Butterfield,  the  cook-housekeeper,  sat  down  to 
rest  a  moment.  She  was  a  mountain  of  a  woman  ad- 
vanced in  years,  and  not  as  active  as  she  had  been.  She 
had  lived  with  Mr.  Twistleton's  mother  and  then  with  him 
before  and  after  his  first  marriage,  and  she  well  remem- 
bered the  night  of  snow  when  Peggy's  mother  was  turned 
away.  Right  was  right,  and  Peggy's  mother  had  soon 
married  Major  Coverdale,  so  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing in  it.  Still,  Mrs.  Butterfield  did  not  approve  of 
the  second  Mrs.  Twistleton,  although  as  a  mistress  she 
was  usually  bearable".  Not  always.  Her  temper  got  the 
better  of  her  sometimes  and  then  she  would  carry  on 
more  like  a  fish- wife  than  a  lady.  All  the  maids  knew 
that,  and  Mr.  Jordan  himself  came  downstairs  put  out 
occasionally.  But  luckily  in  these  days  servants  who 
know  their  work  can  take  care  of  themselves.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  was  clever  enough  to  know  that,  and  never 
went  too  far  below  stairs.  Up  above  it  was  a  different 
matter. 

"Mrs.  Butterfield!" 

The  stout  woman  jumped  and  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart.  She  had  been  nearly  asleep,  that  she  had,  and 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  31 

what  was  Miss  Peggy  doing  here  in  the  hall  when  she 
ought  to  have  been  sitting  upstairs  at  lunch ;  and  what 
for  goodness'  sake  had  she  done  to  her  face  to  cut  it  like 
that;  and  why  had  she  been  crying;  and  just  look  at  her 
pinafore ! 

"I  fell,"  said  Peggy,  staring  at  a  large  wart  near  Mrs. 
Butterfield's  nose  that  always  fascinated  her.  It  looked 
as  if  a  determined  tweak  would  remove  it  any  day. 

"You  fell.  .  .  ." 

Peggy  nodded  and  did  not  speak.  She  was  ashamed 
to  be  a  cry-baby  at  her  age,  but  the  tears  welled  into  her 
eyes  again,  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"I'm  hungry,"  she  said  with  a  sob. 

Mrs.  Butterfield  asked  no  further  questions.  She  could 
put  two  and  two  together  when  the  sum  was  presented 
every  day  in  slightly  different  guises.  Miss  Peggy  had 
been  in  disgrace  again :  had  been  in  mischief,  presumably. 

"You  know  you  are  not  allowed  to  come  down  here 
begging  for  things  to  eat,"  she  said  severely. 

Peggy  turned  red  and  went  back  towards  the  door. 

"Now  then  .  .  .  don't  be  off  like  a  lamplighter,"  said 
Mrs.  Butterfield,  whose  analogies  were  often  obscure  and 
whose  diction  was  a  stumbling-block  to  the  genteel 
amongst  her  colleagues. 

"I'm  not  a  beggar,"  said  Peggy.  "I  don't  care.  I'll 
wait  till  tea-time." 

"Proud  as  a  peacock.  That's  why  you  fell,  I'll  be 
bound.  Now  wait  a  bit,  my  pet,  and  we'll  see  what  we 
can  do.  Why,  here's  Mr.  Jordan  with  the  chicken." 

So  there  was:  and  before  Peggy  could  pass  him  Mrs. 
Butterfield  had  put  a  large  comforting  arm  round  her. 

"The  poor  mite's  got  nowt  inside  her  little  wame,"  she 
said  to  the  butler.  "I'm  going  to  give  her  some  meat." 

"It's  at  your  own  risk  if  you  do,"  said  Jordan.  "We 
have  our  orders  and  you  know  what  children  are.  They 
tell  tales." 


32  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"I  don't  tell  tales,"  cried  Peggy  indignantly. 

"It's  a  shame,  it  is,"  continued  Mrs.  Butterfield.  "Look 
at  her  face!" 

"It's  my  birthday,"  said  Peggy. 

"Who  did  that  to  your  face?"  asked  Jordan. 

"I  broke  a  china  cat  and  then  I  fell  and  a  big  piece 
stuck  up  and  cut  me." 

"Did  you  fall  by  yourself  or  did  someone  push  you?" 
asked  Mrs.  Butterfield,  and  nodded  shrewdly  at  Jordan 
when  Peggy  turned  scarlet  and  did  not  answer. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  she  said,  and  hobbling  away  on 
two  feet  that  seemed  inadequate  supports  for  so  much 
solid  flesh,  she  fetched  the  child  some  chicken  and 
vegetables  and  set  her  down  at  the  table  to  eat  it. 

"Don't  choke  yourself,  but  be  as  quick  as  you  can," 
she  counseled;  "and  remember  it's  between  you  and  me 
and  the  post." 

Peggy  ate  ravenously. 

"The  child's  nothing  but  skin  and  bone,"  grumbled 
Mrs.  Butterfield.  "Look  at  her!  I'd  be  ashamed,  I 
would,  if  she  was  mine.  But  when  the  master  is  as  blind 
as  Cupid  and  the  missus  sits  at  her  window  and  tires 
her  head  .  .  .  you  take  my  meaning?" 

"I  do,"  said  Jordan,  "but  what  I  say  to  myself,  not 
to  you,  Mrs.  Butterfield,  is,  Mind  your  own  business." 

"That's  right  enough  as  far  as  it  goes,"  said  the  cook, 
"but  there's  a  limit  to  everything." 

"Besides,"  said  Jordan,  "the  child's  mother  was  a  slip 
of  a  girl.  That  sort  is  born  thin  and  dies  thin." 


CHAPTER    IV 

DID  you  know  my  mother?"  said  Peggy,  staring. 
"Haven't  we  lived  in  the  family  this  twenty 
years?"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield,  in  the  vexed  evasive 
voice  of  one  who  knows  that  has  been  said  which  it  had 
been  wiser  not  to  say.  " What'll  you  have  now  ?  Some 
raspberry  cream,  I  think,  as  it's  your  birthday,  and  we're 
making  a  day  of  it.  As  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  a 
lamb  if  you  must  be  hung  at  all.  Here  it  conies,  like  the 
pigeon  that  flew  into  Willie  Wood's  mouth  when  he  was 
star-gazing." 

Mrs.  Butterfield  had  gone  outside  and  returned  with  a 
plate  on  which  there  was  a  large  helping  of  a  delicious 
pink  cream  that  Peggy  knew  but  had  not  often  been 
allowed  to  have.  Flavored  with  raspberries  it  was,  and 
full  of  little  banana  chunks  that  tasted  of  raspberry  as 
well  as  of  banana.  The  Princess  always  had  it  for  her 
wedding-breakfast  when  she  married  the  Prince.  Peggy 
had  been  so  sharpset  that  she  had  gobbled  up  her  chicken 
in  no  time,  but  she  began  upon  the  cream  slowly  so  as 
to  make  it  last. 

"Henry  the  Eighth  had  six  wives,"  she  began  after  a 
ruminating  pause. 

"Solomon  had  hundreds  and  hundreds,"  said  Mrs.  But- 
terfield. "Women  must  have  been  plentiful  in  those 
days." 

"They  are  now,"  said  Jordan;  "in  heathen  countries 
a  man  can  have  as  many  wives  as  he  wants." 

"Solomon  was  no  heathen,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield.  "It 
never  struck  me  before,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  must 

33 


34  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

have  been  a  Jew,  like  that  Mr.  Cohen  I  was  with  before 
I  went  to  Mrs.  Twistleton.  Solomon  was  no  heathen." 

"Nor  was  Henry  the  Eighth,"  said  Peggy;  "he  was  a 
religious  man,  but  changeable.  I  wish.  .  .  ." 

"What  you  wish,  ducky?  .  .  .  Some  sponge-cake  with 
your  cream  .  .  .  seeing  as  it's  your  birthday.  .  .  ." 

"A  man  can't  behead  his  wife,  nowadays,  even  if  he 
is  king,"  continued  Peggy,  accepting  the  sponge-cake. 
"At  least,  Miss  Busby  says  so." 

"Miss  Busby  is  right,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield.  "A  pretty 
state  of  things  it  would  be." 

"The  Turks  sew  'em  up  in  a  sack,"  contributed  Jordan, 
and  Peggy's  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  him  with  interest. 
"They  sew  'em  up  in  a  sack  and  throw  'em  in  the 
Bosphorus." 

"Alive?" 

"Alive  or  dead :  what's  it  matter  ?  I'd  as  soon  be 
drowned  as  strangled.  Wouldn't  you?" 

"I  expect  Hallinwater  is  as  deep  as  the  Bosphorus," 
said  Peggy.  "It's  very  deep  if  you  row  out  a  little  way. 
I  wish  Father  was  a  Turk." 

"Bless  us  and  save  us,  what  next?"  cried  Mrs.  Butter- 
field,  scandalized.  "A  Turk's  no  better  than  a  heathen. 
He  can  have  a  dozen  wives  if  wives  are  his  fancy." 

"Well,  Father  has  two,"  said  Peggy. 

"Never.     It's  not  allowed  in  Christian  countries." 

"You  mean  they  don't  have  two  in  the  same  house. 
I  wish  they  did.  I  wish  my  own  mother  was  in  this 
house.  Where  is  she,  Mrs.  Butterfield?" 

"Not  knowing,  can't  say." 

"Is  she  alive?" 

"That's  enough,  Miss  Peggy.  You  well  know  that 
we  are  forbidden  to  mention  your  mother's  name.  Ask 
no  questions  and  you'll  get  no  stories  told.  You  run 
along  back  to  the  schoolroom  this  minute  or  there'll  be 
trouble.  When  Mr.  Jordan  takes  in  the  coffee,  as  he  is 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  35 

commencing  to  do,  Miss  Busby  goes  upstairs.  She  is 
probably  on  the  way  now." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Eugene  Aram,  Mrs.  Butter- 
field?" 

"Can't  say  as  I  have.     Does  he  visit  here?" 

"He's  deadr    He  murdered  an  old  man." 

"What  did  he  want  to  do  that  for?" 

"For  gold. 

'Two  sudden  blows  with  a  ragged  stick, 

And  one  with  a  heavy  stone, 

One  hurried  gash  with  a  hasty  knife.  .  .  .' " 

"Now  I  won't  have  it,  Miss  Peggy,  and  that's  flat," 
cried  the  cook.  "Teaching  a  child  like  you  such  horrors ! 
Miss  Busby  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself,  and  she  may 
know  as  I  said  so.  'What  does  little  birdie  say  in  her 
nest  at  break  of  day  ?'  That's  pretty.  Or,  'The  boy  was 
on  the  burning  deck,'  if  you  want  something  exciting. 
I  wonder  you  don't  have  a  nightmare." 

"I  have  to  learn  it  as  a  punishment,"  explained  Peggy. 
"I  hate  it.  Sometimes  people  murder  children.  They 
get  them  away  into  lonely  places  and  murder  them.  There 
was  one  only  the  other  day  ...  in  a  wood.  .  .  ." 

"Now  who  tells  you  any  such  tales?"  exclaimed  the 
cook,  taking  the  child  upon  her  knee,  for  Peggy  had 
sidled  closer  and  closer  to  her  with  wide-open  eyes  and 
her  voice  choked  with  terror. 

"Mother  told  me  about  that  one,"  said  Peggy,  "but 
she  said  I  mustn't  tell  Mabel,  or  I  would  be  whipped,  so 
I  haven't,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  about  it,  because 
Mother  said  probably  the  boy  had  been  a  nuisance  and 
was  better  out  of  the  world  than  in  it.  And  she  did  kill 
the  kitten  when  it  scratched  her.  Miss  Busby  saw  her 
fling  it  into  the  water-butt.  It  made  her  heart  have 
palpitations.  But  she  has  never  said  anything  about  it 
except  to  me.  You  won't  tell,  will  you?" 

"What  on  earth  is  the  child  chattering  about?"  said 


36  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

Mrs.  Butterfield,  holding  Peggy  closely  to  her  in  a  kind, 
comfortable  way.  '  'Ding  dong  bell/  I  know,  and  the 
pussy  in  the  well.  'Who  pulled  her  out?  Little  Tommy 
Trout.'  But  I  never  heard  of  any  kitten  being  drowned, 
as  ought  not  to  have  been  so  treated.  The  young  ones 
have  to  be  made  away  with  or  we'd  all  get  eaten  out 
of  house  and  home  by  cats,  but  they  know  nothing 
about  it." 

"This  was  quite  a  big  kitten,"  said  Peggy.  "It  be- 
longed to  Ada  Dixon.  It  was  in  the  kitchen  garden  and 
so  was  Mother.  She  picked  it  up  and  it  scratched  her, 
so  she  flung  it  into  the  water-butt  and  let  it  drown.  She 
thought  no  one  saw  her,  but  Miss  Busby  was  just  behind 
the  shed  and  did  see." 

"Well,  I  never!"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield.  "So  that's 
what  happened  to  Ada's  kitten.  And  Dixon  always  blam- 
ing one  of  the  garden  boys.  In  fact,  he  and  Mr.  Paterson 
had  words  over  it,  and  have  hardly  spoken  since.  I 
never !" 

"You  won't  tell,  will  you?" 

"Not  me.  I've  no  wish  to  come  to  a  bad  end  as  all 
tell-tales  do.  Now  run  along,  Miss  Peggy,  and  get  ready 
for  your  walk." 

"I'm  not  to  go  for  a  walk.  I've  got  to  stay  at  home 
and  learn  those  horrid  verses." 

"Well,  they  won't  take  you  long.  You  seem  to  know 
them  already.  You've  plenty  of  story-books,  haven't 
you  ?  Quick !  Up  the  back  stairs.  They're  coming  out 
of  the  dining-room." 

Peggy  fled,  and  Mrs.  Butterfield  sat  still  in  her  easy- 
chair  until  Jordan  came  in  again. 

"The  more  I  think  of  Solomon,  the  less  I  like  him," 
said  she  to  the  surprised  butler.  "Wasn't  it  him  who 
said  'Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child'?  I  presume 
he  had  some  caterwauling  upstairs,  with  all  those  wives 
about,  but  who  asked  him  to  marry  them?" 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  37 

"I  don't  hold  with  criticising  biblical  personages,"  said 
Jordan  stiffly.  "If  we  once  began  no  one  knows  where 
we  should  end.  Things  were  different  in  those  days." 

"He  should  have  thought  before  he  spoke,"  persisted 
the  cook,  and  then  waddled  upstairs  to  have  her  after- 
noon nap.  On  her  way  she  passed  the  schoolroom  door 
and  listened  there;  but  she  could  not  hear  a  sound,  so 
she  hoped  that  Peggy  had  been  forgiven  and  taken  out 
for  a  walk. 

But  Peggy  was  not  out.  She  was  curled  up  in  a  corner 
of  the  old  horsehair  sofa  with  her  poetry  book  open  on 
her  lap,  and  she  was  saying  the  four  verses  she  had  to 
learn  over  and  over  again,  shuddering  at  every  horrid 
line :  afraid  to  remember,  and  still  more  afraid  to  forget. 
She  shut  her  eyes  and  saw  the  universal  air  lit  with  a 
ghastly  flame.  That  would  be  a  blue  flame,  like  snap- 
dragon at  Christmas,  she  supposed.  She  was  not  afraid 
of  snapdragon  and  had  pulled  out  figs  and  dates  until 
Mother  called  her  greedy  and  pushed  her  back.  Mabel 
had  not  put  her  hand  in  once,  and  Miss  Busby  had  only 
done  so  gingerly.  But  snapdragon  flames  only  filled  a 
bowl  and  soon  burned  out.  This  flame  filled  the  universal 
air  and  in  it  there  were  ten  thousand  dreadful  eyes:  and 
from  the  lifeless  clay  the  blood  gushed  out  when  she 
touched  it.  ...  No,  not  she  .  .  .  Eugene  Aram  .  .  . 
but  some  day  if  she  committed  a  murder  ...  or  if 
someone  found  her  tied  to  a  tree  and  murdered  her  .  .  . 
some  horrid  tramp  ...  no  one  would  hear  her  scream 
.  .  .  the  tarn  was  a  long  way  from  the  house,  "A  slug- 
gish water  black  as  ink,  the  depth  was  so  extreme." 
Yet  she  loved  the  tarn  better  than  any  place  in  the 
world  .  .  .  loved  its  silence  and  its  mystery.  She  had 
not  told  anyone,  not  even  Mrs.  Butterfield,  what  hap- 
pened there  the  other  day:  because  if  she  had  not  been 
naughty  and  silly  perhaps  it  would  not  have  happened. 
Besides,  you  never  knew.  If  you  told  when  you  were 


38  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

strictly  forbidden  to  you  might  be  found  out,  and  then 
.  .  .  Peggy  had  never  been  afraid  of  the  tarn  till  Mother 
saw  her  there  one  afternoon,  when  she  ought  to  have 
been  with  Miss  Busby,  and  tied  her  to  a  tree  with  a 
long  scarf  as  a  punishment  for  running  away.  Of  course 
she  ought  not  to  have  run  away,  but  Miss  Busby  had 
been  cross  and  Mabel  tiresome.  There  was  never  anyone 
cross  and  tiresome  at  the  tarn. 

It  had  got  quite  dark  and  cold  before  she  was  released, 
and  she  had  been  tired  with  standing  on  her  feet  all  that 
time.  At  first  she  had  thought  she  would  not  mind. 
All  the  lovely  trees,  and  plants  that  grew  round  the  tarn, 
the  birds  in  the  air,  the  fish  flopping  in  and  out  of  the 
water,  and  the  wild  duck  that  had  a  nest  on  the  little 
island,  and  the  wicked  but  beautiful  heron  that  came  to 
eat  the  fish  ...  all  these  were  her  friends,  and  would 
not  hurt  her;  but  it  had  been  terrifying  at  the  tarn  when 
the  dark  came.  It  was  as  if  all  your  friends  vanished 
and  your  enemies  came,  especially  thoughts.  There  was 
the  thought  about  the  boy  who  had  been  decoyed  into  a 
wood  and  murdered :  and  there  was  Mother's  story  of 
the  owl  that  had  flown  at  someone  and  torn  his  cheek. 

Peggy  most  particularly  loved  owls,  the  wise,  soft 
birds  that  flew  by  night  and  called  to  each  other  as  you 
went  to  sleep.  She  would  have  liked  one  for  a  pet :  but 
she  was  not  allowed  to  have  live  pets.  She  wanted  a 
fox-terrier  more  than  anything  in  the  world,  but  Mother 
said  that  Carlo  might  not  like  it,  and  that  the  fox-terrier 
might  not  like  Carlo. 

Peggy  knew  her  verses  word  for  word  now,  but  knew 
with  harrowing  certainty  that  when  she  tried  to  repeat 
them  to  her  step-mother  she  would  stumble  and  forget. 
However,  it  was  no  use  to  waste  more  time  on  them, 
and  she  went  to  the  toy  cupboard  in  search  of  amuse- 
ment. Her  eyes  fell  on  the  Polynesian  idol  lolling  in  a 
corner,  battered  and  limbless.  She  had  an  idea,  and 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  39 

when  Peggy  had  an  idea  she  acted  on  it  without  regard 
to  consequences.  But  the  thing  wanted  a  wig.  Well, 
you  can  make  a  wig  of  wool,  and  there  was  always  wool 
on  the  top  shelf  where  Miss  Busby  kept  her  everlasting 
crochet.  Peggy  got  a  chair,  found  a  skein  of  black  wool, 
and  cut  it  into  short  lengths.  It  made  a  thick  wig:  not 
quite  crinkled  enough  .  .  .  but  one  can't  have  every- 
thing. There  must  be  a  frock  too  ...  a  trailing  one 
.  .  .  Mabel's  new  dressing-gown,  made  out  of  Mother's 
old  one.  Peggy  remembered  Mother  in  it  well.  The 
very  flowers  on  it  were  associated  with  those  painful  and 
humiliating  moments  when  you  discover  how  badly  an 
elegant  shoe  can  hurt  if  vigorously  applied.  She  fetched 
it  from  Mabel's  room,  and  draped  it  round  the  idol, 
which  she  propped  up  in  Miss  Busby's  easy-chair.  Then 
she  stood  in  front  of  it  with  her  back  towards  the  door. 

"Do  you  know  your  verses?"  she  asked,  speaking  for 
the  idol  in  a  harsh  voice. 

"Yes,  Mother,"  she  squeaked  in  a  falsetto  meant  to 
counterfeit  her  own  voice. 

"Say  them." 

"  'Two  sudden  blows  with  a  ragged  stick, 
And  one  with  a  heavy  stone, 
One  hurried  gash.  .  .  .'" 

Peggy  had  yet  another  idea.  She  picked  up  the  long 
ruler  from  the  schoolroom  table  and  took  up  her  position 
in  front  of  the  idol  again.  "Now  then,"  she  said  threat- 
eningly. 

"Begin  again,"  said  the  idol. 

"I'm  going  to,"  said  Peggy.  "I'm  going  to  say  them 
till  you  wish  you'd  never  heard  them,  I  am.  I  think  I'll 
begin  at  the  beginning.  No,  I  won't.  I'll  say  to-day's 
verses  over  and  over  again  till  I  can't  forget  them  even 
when  you  stare  at  me.  You're  only  Mumbo-Jumbo,  but 
you'll  do." 


40  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

It  was  a  fascinating  game,  satisfying  both  to  body  and 
soul:  at  least  it  satisfied  that  angry  corner  of  the  soul 
where  Mother,  but  no  one  else,  had  her  being.  You 
would  have  played  a  different  game  if  you  had  wanted 
Mumbo- Jumbo  to  be  Mrs.  Butterfield  or  Celia  Aysgarth, 
or  even  Mabel. 

"What  is  all  this?"  said  Father's  voice  just  behind 
her.  He  had  come  into  the  room  with  a  strange  man. 


CHAPTER   V 

"TYEGGY  had  not  confined  herself  to  recitation.  She 
had  acted  her  dialogue  and  then  danced  in  front 
of  her  wooden  image,  hitting  at  it  with  the  ruler. 
Her  own  mop  of  hair  was  disheveled,  her  black-stock- 
inged legs  were  as  thin  as  drum-sticks,  her  face,  when 
she  turned  in  terror  at  her  father's  voice,  was  colorless 
and  tear-stained.  The  gash  made  on  it  that  morning 
still  needed  attention.  So  did  her  hands. 

"What  a  little  ragamuffin!"  thought  Victor  Gerard, 
who  was  unmarried  and  knew  nothing  of  children.  "Why 
don't  they  wash  her  and  keep  her  tidy?" 

"This  is  the  little  girl,"  said  Mr.  Twistleton.  "Come 
here,  Peggy,  and  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Gerard.  Don't 
stand  there  staring  like  that.  Why  are  you  not  at  work? 
I  understood  that  you  were  kept  in  because  you  had 
been  naughty  and  had  a  lesson  to  learn." 

"I've  learnt  it,"  said  Peggy,  answering  her  father  but 
fixing  her  eyes  on  his  companion,  whom  she  had  heard 
of  but  had  never  seen  before.  She  saw  that  he  was  much 
younger  than  her  father  and  that  he  had  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye  and  about  his  mouth.  Just  now  his  face  was  grave, 
but  you  could  see  the  twinkle  all  the  same.  It  was  there 
a  little  when  he  looked  at  you  and  a  little  more  when  he 
looked  at  Mumbo- Jumbo  in  her  black  wig  and  flowered 
gown.  He  did  not  wait  for  you  to  walk  right  across  the 
room  to  him,  but  came  forward,  and  took  hold  of  the 
hand  you  held  out.  He  had  a  firm  comfortable  hand. 
You  liked  the  feel  of  it,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

"Were  you  rehearsing  a  part  in  a  play?"  he  asked. 
"Are  you  going  to  act  in  one?  It  looked  rather  like 

41 


42  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

Punch  and  Judy,  with  you  as  Punch.  Did  you  ever  see 
Punch  and  Judy?" 

"What  were  you  doing?"  said  Father  harshly. 

"I  was  saying  my  verses,"  you  answered,  and  your 
voice  sounded  nearly  as  silly  and  frightened  as  when  you 
were  making  believe.  Father  was  not  in  the  least  like 
Mother.  He  did  not  hurt  you  on  purpose.  But  he  was 
always  a  long  way  off,  and  he  never  understood.  Be- 
sides, he  believed  whatever  Mother  said  to  him. 

"What  verses?"  he  asked.  "Some  that  have  been  set 
as  a  punishment,  I  suppose?" 

You  hung  your  head  and  felt  so  shy  and  miserable 
that  you  did  not  speak. 

"Answer  when  you  are  spoken  to,"  said  Father. 

You  began  to  cry.  You  are  sure  you  would  not  have 
done  so  if  you  had  not  cried  before  that  day.  But 
everyone  knows  what  it  is.  Begin  a  day  badly  and  it 
goes  on  badly.  Tears  in  the  morning,  and  ten  to  one 
there  will  be  tears  in  the  afternoon.  They  seem  to  stay 
close  behind  your  eyes  and  come  there  even  when  you 
are  trying  hard  to  keep  them  back. 

"You  see  how  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Twistleton.  "Sulky  and 
troublesome,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  My  wife  is  the  only 
person  who  can  manage  her.  You  must  think  over  it 
before  you  accept,  Victor.  If  you  would  rather  not  do 
it  I  must  try  to  find  someone  else.  But  of  course  I 
should  be  very  glad  .  .  .  and  it  may  not  come  on  you 
for  years.  .  .  .  What  the  .  .  .  what  is  all  this  ?" 

Mr.  Twistleton's  short-sighted  eyes  had  only  just  dis- 
covered the  dressed-up  figure  in  the  chair:  and  he  was 
now  examining  it  through  his  glasses  with  gathering 
amazement  and  indignation. 

"My  wife's  dressing-gown  ...  a  black  wig.  .  .  ." 

He  turned  suddenly  on  Peggy  in  a  fury  and  shook  her 
there  and  then  before  Mr.  Gerard,  whom  she  had  never 
seen  before. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  43 

"I  saw  you  raining  blows  on  it,"  he  muttered.  "You 
abandoned  child!  Everything  I  am  told  about  you  is 
true.  What  will  become  of  you?  I've  a  good  mind  to 
send  you  straight  out  of  the  house.  You  are  not  fit  to 
be  in  it." 

"But  wasn't  it  Punch  and  Judy?"  said  Mr.  Gerard, 
and  he  contrived  as  he  spoke  to  get  between  Mr.  Twistle- 
ton  and  the  child. 

"It  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  don't  understand 
the  enormity  of  the  offense.  You  don't  realize  that  she 
has  dressed  up  an  image  of  my  wife  and  was  in  the 
act  of  delivering  a  murderous  attack  on  it  when  we  entered 
the  room.  A  child  that  can  conceive  such  an  idea  and 
carry  it  out  is  capable  of  anything." 

Stated  so,  Peggy's  conduct  did  sound  bad,  and  Victor 
Gerard  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  He  knew  that  he  did 
not  understand  children  and  he  was  sure  that  he  disliked 
them.  This  child  had  fine  eyes  and  hair,  but  it  looked 
as  frightened  as  a  rabbit.  Besides,  it  cried.  Mr.  Twistle- 
ton  had  just  asked  him  to  be  co-executor,  with  his  wife, 
of  his  will,  and  co-guardian  of  this  child:  and  Victor 
had  accepted  the  post.  As  far  as  he  knew,  Mr.  Twistle- 
ton's  life  was  still  a  good  one.  Probably  the  child  would 
be  of  age  before  her  father  died.  If  not,  the  office  of 
guardian  would  be  more  a  matter  of  business  than  of 
any  personal  relation.  Peggy  would  naturally  live  with 
her  step-mother  for  years  to  come.  So  the  situation 
had  presented  itself  downstairs  in  the  tranquil  and 
decorous  atmosphere  of  Mr.  Twistleton's  study.  Up 
here,  it  suddenly  seemed  changed.  There  might  be 
breakers  ahead.  Still,  Victor  would  not  have  to  navigate 
them  unless  Mr.  Twistleton  died  unexpectedly:  and  he 
had  more  or  less  given  his  word.  Besides,  he  was  not 
going  to  back  out  because  a  child  of  nine  was  trouble- 
some. He  would  like  to  know  a  little  more  about  her. 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  go,"  said  Mr.  Twistleton;  "I  want 


44  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

to  get  that  letter  off  to  Barnes  &  Norton  by  to-day's 
post.  Are  you  coming,  Victor?" 

"In  one  moment,  sir,"  said  the  younger  man,  and 
stopped  behind.  When  the  door  shut  he  took  Peggy  on 
his  knee. 

"Stop  crying !"  he  said,  and  Peggy  stopped  and  stared. 
She  liked  sitting  on  Victor's  knee.  She  liked  the  feel 
of  his  arm  round  her  and  the  tone  of  his  voice,  even 
when  it  came  short  and  sharp  as  it  did  just  now.  You 
obeyed  it,  but  you  did  not  obey  with  hate  inside  you : 
and  if  you  were  afraid  it  was  the  kind  of  fear  that  makes 
you  want  to  please  the  person  inspiring  it. 

"What  were  you  doing  when  we  came  in  ?"  said  Victor, 
as  soon  as  he  thought  the  child  could  speak. 

"I  was  saying  my  verses." 

"What  verses?" 

"I  have  four  to  learn  because  I  broke  the  china  cat, 
and  I  shall  have  to  say  them  to  Mother  this  afternoon, 
and  I  always  forget,  however  well  I  know  them,  and 
then.  .  .  ." 

"No  crying/'  said  Victor  in  a  hard  voice,  that  some- 
how helped  you  not  to  cry:  for  though  his  voice  was 
hard  his  arm  round  you  was  kind. 

"I  thought  I'd  pretend  Mumbo-Jumbo  was  Mother  and 
say  them  over  to  her  and  then  perhaps  I  shouldn't  for- 
get." 

"So  you  dressed  up  Mumbo-Jumbo  in  that  gown  and 
that  wig  to  make  believe?" 

"Ye-es." 

"But  why  were  you  beating  it?" 

"She  beats  me." 

Victor's  inclination  was  to  sheer  away  as  quickly  as 
possible  from  a  confidence  he  did  not  wish  to  receive  and 
which  laid  a  charge  he  could  not  examine.  Children 
were  naughty  the  world  over.  He  had  lately  smacked 
one  of  his  little  nephews  himself,  and  his  sister  had  only 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  45 

half  liked  it.  But  he  meant  to  do  it  again  if  necessary. 
Spoilt  children  were  a  torment  to  themselves  and  every- 
one else. 

"I  expect  you  deserve  it,"  he  said,  speaking  lightly. 

"I  expect  I  do,"  sighed  Peggy ;  "but  it  hurts." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Nine.    To-day's  my  birthday." 

"Your  birthday !  You  seem  to  be  having  a  merry  time. 
Where  are  your  presents?" 

Peggy  snuggled  close  to  the  young  man's  tweed  coat 
and  told  him  the  story  of  the  china  cat  and  the  mis- 
fortunes ensuing. 

"I  did  not  break  it  on  purpose,"  she  assured  him,  and 
by  this  time  her  arm  was  round  his  neck  and  her  cheek 
on  his  shoulder. 

"So  you've  had  no  presents!"  he  said  sadly,  but  there 
was  still  the  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"I've  had  one,"  explained  Peggy,  and  she  got  off  his 
knee  for  a  moment  to  show  him  the  big  doll  wearing  the 
black  tam-o'-shanter  that  Miss  Busby  had  made  for  it. 

"Are  you  fond  of  dolls?  Do  you  want  another?" 
asked  Victor. 

Peggy  shook  her  head  and  climbed  on  his  knee  again. 

"I  feel  too  old  for  them,"  she  said.  "Mabel  doesn't, 
but  I  do.  I  never  did  care  much  for  dolls.  Don't  you 
think  they  are  rather  silly?" 

"What  do  you  want  most  for  your  birthday  ?" 

"The  fox-terrier." 

"What  fox-terrier?" 

"The  one  that  Dixon  would  have  sold  me  if  I  had  had 
my  birthday  sovereign.  He  promised  me  the  pick  of  the 
litter." 

"When  will  they  come?" 

"I  don't  know.     Not  yet,  Dixon  says." 

"Would  you  be  allowed  to  have  one?" 

"I  don't  know." 


46  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Shall  I  ask?  Shall  I  send  you  one  that  has  been 
trained  and  is  old  enough  to  run  about  with  you?  I 
say  .  .  .  steady  now  .  .  .  you  mustn't  crumple  my  col- 
lar. Will  chocolates  do  if  dogs  are  not  admitted?" 

Peggy  nodded  her  head  blissfully.  "But  I'd  rather 
have  a  dog,"  she  said.  "He  would  be  my  very  own, 
wouldn't  he?  I  shouldn't  have  to  share  him  with  Mabel." 

"Your  very  own  from  the  tip  of  his  nose  to  the  end 
of  his  tail.  What  will  you  call  him  if  he  comes?" 

"What  are  you  called  ?" 

"Victor." 

"But  I  won't  call  him  that,"  mused  Peggy.  "It  might 
be  rather  confusing  when  you  come  to  see  us:  and  it 
wouldn't  sound  polite.  I  think  I'll  call  him  Dingo  after 
yellow  dog  Dingo  in  the  story." 

"But  he  won't  be  yellow  if  he  is  a  fox-terrier." 

"I  can  pretend  he  is  yellow,"  argued  Peggy,  so  Victor 
left  it  at  that. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  she  asked  him. 

"In  Manchester  at  present." 

"I  lived  there  once." 

"I  know." 

"I  remember  it.    I  remember  my  own  Mother  a  little." 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes.  I  wish  she  would  come  back :  but  Mrs.  Butter- 
field  says  this  is  a  Christian  country  and  that  a  man 
can't  have  two  wives.  It's  a  pity." 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Butterfield?" 

"She  is  our  cook-housekeeper.  I'm  very  fond  of  her. 
She  gave  me  some  chicken  and  raspberry  cream  to-day 
because  I  was  hungry:  but  don't  tell  anyone.  It  was 
as  much  as  her  place  was  worth  to  do  it.  She  said  so." 

"Why  weren't  you  at  lunch?  I  saw  you  come  in  and 
then  disappear." 

"Mother  sent  me  upstairs.  She  said  I  was  a  dis- 
graceful object  and  that  Miss  Busby  ought  not  to  have 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  47 

taken  me  down.  Miss  Busby  cried  about  it  just  before 
she  went  out  and  said  she  had  never  been  spoken  to  so 
in  her  life,  and  that  it  was  all  my  fault  for  running 
downstairs  without  washing  my  face  and  hands.  I  expect 
I  had  better  wash  them  before  she  comes  back  or  she 
will  be  upset  again." 

"I  expect  you  had,"  said  Victor.  "They  want  it:  and 
I'm  off  now.  I  have  a  train  to  catch." 
"When  will  you  come  again?" 
"I've  no  idea.  Some  day,  if  you're  good." 
It  was  distressing  to  see  him  go  and  hear  the  door 
shut  behind  him.  Peggy  wished  she  could  have  gone 
with  him.  She  turned  drearily  to  Mumbo-Jumbo  and 
divested  it  of  the  wig  and  the  dressing-gown.  The  wig 
she  burned.  The  dressing-gown  she  put  back  in  Mabel's 
room.  Then  she  washed  her  face  and  hands:  but  the 
cut  on  her  face  hurt  her,  and  still  looked  red  and  angry. 
She  wished  now  that  Victor  had  not  seen  her  so  grubby 
and  disfigured.  She  wondered  he  had  wanted  her  to  sit 
on  his  knee  and  put  her  arm  round  his  neck.  The  school- 
room seemed  emptier  than  usual  when  she  went  back  to 
it.  Her  birthday  would  soon  be  over  now,  but  before  it 
was  over  she  would  have  to  go  downstairs. 

"For  every  clot  a  burning  spot 
Was  scorching  in  my  brain." 

"What  are  you  droning  to  yourself?"  said  Miss  Busby's 
high  complaining  voice.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you've 
not  learned  those  verses  yet?  Mabel  and  I  have  been 
out  nearly  two  hours,  and  you've  had  nothing  else  to  do." 

"I  have,"  said  Peggy.    "I've  had  visitors." 

"Visitors!    What  do  you  mean?" 

"Father  brought  Mr.  Gerard  up  here." 

"Whatever  for?"  said  Mabel. 

"Father  went  away,  but  Mr.  Gerard  stayed  a  long 
time." 


48  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

"I  like  Mr.  Gerard,"  said  Mabel.  "I  sat  next  to  him 
at  lunch.  I  wish  I  hadn't  gone  out." 

"I  sat  on  his  knee,"  said  Peggy  triumphantly.  "He's 
very  clean.  His  neck  smelt  of  soap." 

"I  hope  you  were  clean  yourself,"  said  Miss  Busby. 

"I  wasn't,"  said  Peggy,  "but  he  didn't  seem  to  mind. 
He  let  me  put  my  head  on  his  shoulder.  I  made  a  little 
finger-mark  on  his  collar  at  the  back,  but  I  don't  think 
anyone  would  notice  it.  He  is  going  to  give  me  a  fox- 
terrier,  if  they  will  let  me  have  one." 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  fox-terrier  had  arrived  and  was  everything 
that  a  fox-terrier  ought  to  be — in  Peggy's  opinion. 
He  had  a  pointed  nose  and  a  black  patch  over 
one  eye.  He  had  several  other  black  patches,  one  just 
over  his  tail.  He  was  like  the  fox-terrier  in  "The  Dog's 
Day,"  a  treasure  of  a  book  that  Celia  Aysgarth  possessed 
and  Peggy  coveted.  She  meant  to  buy  it  if  ever  she 
had  any  pocket-money,  but  she  never  did  have  any. 
There  were  no  shops  nearer  than  Senwick,  and  she  never 
went  to  Senwick,  so  she  did  not  miss  money  much  as 
a  rule.  Dingo  knew  that  he  belonged  to  Peggy  and  when 
she  was  dressing  to  go  out  he  jumped  all  over  her  and 
barked  with  excitement.  He  had  a  lovely  bark.  It 
seemed  to  talk  to  Peggy  and  say  pleasant,  friendly  things 
such  as  she  said  to  him.  He  was  a  very  young  dog 
with  a  great  deal  to  learn  in  the  world,  and  out  of  doors 
he  tried  to  catch  birds.  He  did  catch  flies  and  once  he 
caught  a  trout  in  a  beck.  No  one  would  believe  this, 
but  Peggy  had  seen  it  in  his  mouth  and  shouted  at  him 
because  she  felt  sorry  for  the  trout.  When  she  was  at 
lessons  he  snuggled  at  her  feet  as  good  as  gold,  and 
sometimes  blinked  at  her  with  his  little  varminty  eyes. 
Every  day  Peggy  brushed  and  combed  him,  for  he  was 
a  wire-haired  fox-terrier  and  looked  lovely  when  he  had 
just  been  brushed.  She  was  not  allowed  to  wash  him 
because  Miss  Busby  said  she  would  make  such  a  mess 
if  she  tried.  Dixon  did  that  outside,  and  carried  him 
to  the  back  door  in  his  arms  so  that  he  could  not  roll 
and  get  dirty  again  before  Peggy  saw  him.  Dixon  was 

49 


50  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

a  kind  man  and  fancied  dogs  himself,  and  he  did  not 
mind  Peggy  having  Dingo  instead  of  one  of  the  puppies 
that  had  not  arrived  yet:  especially  after  she  told  him 
of  her  disappointment  about  the  birthday  sovereign. 
Peggy  was  not  supposed  to  let  Dingo  sleep  in  her  room 
at  night:  nor  was  she  allowed  to  have  him  when  she 
had  been  naughty.  That  embargo  made  life  more  diffi- 
cult than  ever,  because  when  she  offended  Dingo  suffered 
with  her.  When  she  was  in  disgrace  he  was  shut  up 
in  a  dark  housemaid's  cupboard  where  Peggy  could  hear 
him  scratch  and  whine.  So  for  his  sake,  as  well  as  for 
her  own,  she  tried  to  keep  the  law :  but  she  never  suc- 
ceeded for  long. 

Clever  as  Dingo  was,  he  did  not  understand  every- 
thing. He  never  learned  that  he  must  not  growl  at 
Mother  when  she  went  near  his  basket,  or  slink  out  of 
reach  when  she  called  him.  Besides,  he  hated  cats  with 
such  a  fierce  hatred  that  he  tried  to  kill  them,  and 
although  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  drowned  a  kitten,  and  said 
she  hated  pet  animals,  she  kept  Carlo  in  the  house  be- 
cause he  caught  mice.  There  had  been  one  dreadful 
round  already  between  Carlo  and  Dingo.  It  happened 
before  Peggy  knew  what  Dingo's  feelings  were  about 
cats,  and  she  had  let  him  follow  her  downstairs  one  day 
after  tea.  He  had  made  one  swift  pounce  at  Carlo,  and 
fastened  his  teeth  in  the  cat's  neck.  Carlo  had  spit  and 
scratched  and  fizzled  like  fireworks.  Peggy  had  rushed 
at  Dingo  and  lifted  him  up,  although  Carlo  came  too 
and  clawed  at  her.  Luckily  Dingo  had  not  taken  hold 
of  much  except  fur,  so  the  cat  dropped  by  its  own  weight 
and  fled  to  the  top  of  a  bookcase,  where  it  sat  spitting 
and  swearing  while  Dingo  danced  and  yelped  with  rage 
below.  Mother  had  been  deadly  quiet  while  the  battle 
lasted,  and  she  did  not  stir  to  help  Peggy  even  when  she 
was  being  scratched.  But  directly  it  was  over  she  sent 
Peggy  and  Dingo  upstairs  and  said  that  Dingo  should 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  51 

be  thrown  into  the  lake  with  a  stone  round  his  neck  if  it 
happened  again. 

Luckily  the  schoolroom  wing  was  shut  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  house  by  a  heavy  baize  door,  and  as  long  as 
this  was  shut  Dingo  was  safe:  but  Peggy,  who  knew 
how  quick  he  was,  lived  in  fear  of  his  escape  through 
it.  She  told  all  the  servants  about  the  danger  he  ran 
and  several  times  one  of  them  brought  him  back  to  her. 
They  all  liked  him,  and  Mrs.  Butterfield  often  saved  a 
bone  for  him.  Miss  Busby  said  he  was  too  noisy  for 
her  taste,  and  left  white  hairs  on  her  chair  where  he 
had  no  business  to  go,  but  did  go  when  everyone  was 
out  of  the  room.  Besides,  one  day  he  found  her  ball 
of  wool  on  the  floor  and  played  like  a  kitten  with  it, 
and  tried  to  eat  the  beginning  of  a  jumper  that  she  was 
going  to  crochet.  She  had  to  put  it  in  the  fire,  and  her 
neuralgia  came  on  because  she  was  so  upset.  Peggy  was 
very  sorry  about  it,  and  would  have  bought  her  some 
new  wool  if  only  she  had  had  the  money.  Mabel  took 
no  interest  in  Dingo,  and  Peggy  was  glad  of  that.  She 
wanted  him  all  to  herself.  She  loved  him  more  than 
anything  in  the  world,  and  he  loved  her.  She  talked  to 
him  indoors  and  ran  races  with  him  out  of  doors,  and 
threw  sticks  for  him  into  the  lake  because  he  could  not 
see  water  without  wanting  to  swim  in  it.  There  never 
had  been  a  dog  that  loved  water  and  loathed  cats  as 
Dingo  did :  but  his  rules  of  conduct  with  regard  to  them 
were  made  by  himself  or  by  his  ancestors,  and  were  not 
all  that  Peggy  wished.  They  were  topsy-turvy.  He 
would  dance  about  close  to  the  water  and  bark  at  it: 
and  when  he  was  in  the  boat  on  Low  Tarn  he  gave 
short  shrill  yelps  that  split  your  ears:  but  he  never  went 
in  until  Peggy  threw  a  stick  or  gave  him  a  little  push 
overboard.  How  convenient  it  would  have  been  if  he 
had  acted  towards  cats  in  the  same  docile  way !  But 
the  sight  and  sound  of  a  cat  drove  everything  out  of 


52  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

Dingo's  mind  except  the  unfortunate  conviction  that  he 
must  live  and  the  cat  must  not.  He  waited  for  no  per- 
mission in  sight  of  the  enemy.  He  gave  tongue  and 
pounced.  When  the  cat  was  plucky  and  experienced 
Dingo  got  scratched  for  his  pains  and  no  harm  was  done. 
But  Peggy  shivered  to  think  of  what  would  happen  if 
he  met  a  kitten  or  a  coward.  Luckily  she  could  give 
him  plenty  of  exercise  without  taking  him  near  the  cot- 
tages on  the  property  or  the  farms  outside  it :  and  when 
they  went  beyond  the  garden  on  the  fell  side  he  could 
hunt  rabbits  and  enjoy  himself  as  much  as  he  did  in 
the  water.  Sometimes  Miss  Busby  let  her  take  him  for 
a  scamper  while  she  herself  walked  with  Mabel  along 
the  high  road:  and  Peggy  loved  that.  He  was  so  busy 
and  lively  that  she  had  to  attend  to  him  and  forget 
about  people  cut  off  unseen  and  hid  in  sudden  graves. 
There  were  no  caves  on  the  fell  side  where  she  mostly 
went,  but  there  were  enormous  rabbit-holes.  Dingo 
would  get  stuck  sometimes  and  she  had  to  tug  at  him 
to  help  him  out:  and  when  he  did  come  out  he  was 
an  object  and  so  was  she.  As  a  rule  it  did  not  matter 
much.  The  light  earth  he  sent  back  on  her  in  showers 
could  be  mostly  shaken  off  before  she  went  indoors:  and 
generally  she  could  steal  in  by  the  back  way  and  tidy 
herself  in  time  for  the  schoolroom  tea.  Of  course  if 
she  came  across  Mother  she  was  made  to  feel  a  miser- 
able sinner:  but  if  she  met  Father  he  did  not  know 
whether  she  was  tidy  or  untidy.  He  took  very  little 
notice  of  her  as  a  rule.  But  one  day  that  summer  she 
had  the  surprise  of  her  life,  for  she  met  him  walking 
slowly  along  the  grass  path  on  the  fell  side  and  he 
stopped  to  speak  to  her. 

"Why  are  you  not  with  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel?"  he 
asked,  but  his  manner  and  voice  were  not  angry. 

"They  have  gone  to  the  cottages,"  said  Peggy. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  with  them?" 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  53 

"There  are  cats  at  the  cottages." 

"Don't  you  like  cats,  then?" 

"I  don't  mind  them,  but  if  Dingo  saw  one  he  would 
try  to  kill  it." 

Mr.  Twistleton  sat  down  on  a  flat  rock  and  weighed 
with  both  his  hands  on  his  oak  stick.  He  had  been  told 
so  constantly  that  Peggy  was  a  stupid,  perverse  child 
and  had  seen  her  so  everlastingly  in  disgrace  that  he  had 
come  to  believe  there  was  a  good  deal  amiss  with  her. 
What  else  could  be  expected,  since  she  was  the  image  of 
her  mother?  Daphne  had  not  been  stupid  till  she  met 
Major  Coverdale;  she  had  not  exactly  been  perverse, 
perhaps :  but  she  must  have  had  perversity  in  her.  Five 
years  in  the  memory  of  a  man  of  his  age  is  not  a  very 
long  time  and  he  still  thought  of  her  bitterly.  At  least 
he  did  as  a  rule.  Sometimes  lately  his  thoughts  would 
drift  back  to  the  early  days  of  their  marriage  when  he 
had  seen  her  as  fresh  as  the  morning,  and  as  young  as 
spring  amongst  her  books  and  flowers.  Till  her  child 
came,  the  surprising  change  in  her  life  had  bewildered 
her.  She  had  lost  some  of  her  high  spirits.  But  when 
Peggy  was  born  she  gave  herself  up  to  her  child  happily 
and  completely.  Mr.  Twistleton  had  felt  quite  secure 
in  his  marriage,  partly  because  from  his  point  of  view 
Daphne  had  done  extremely  well  for  herself.  To  this 
day  he  could  not  see  what  she  had  gained  by  leaving 
him.  Coverdale  had  money,  he  understood,  but  not  over 
much.  He  was  dead  now  and  Daphne  was  presumably 
alone  in  the  world.  He  wondered  if  she  ever  thought 
of  her  child.  Peggy  looked  very  small  and  young  still. 
There  was  that  in  Mr.  Twistleton's  mind  this  afternoon 
that  softened  his  heart  towards  her.  She  had  a  scared 
glance  in  her  eyes  in  spite  of  the  devilment  that  lighted 
them:  and  she  kept  out  of  his  reach  instead  of  running 
towards  him. 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  been  down  rabbit- holes  with 


54  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

the  dog,"  said  Mr.  Twistleton,  but  he  did  not  speak  un- 
kindly, and  Peggy,  recognizing  this,  sidled  towards  him. 
Dingo  had  run  off  to  explore  a  low,  loosely-built 
boundary  wall  dividing  the  fell  side  from  a  plantation 
of  young  larches  belonging  to  Beda  Close. 

"I  can  see  two  squirrels,"  she  said,  pointing  to  one  of 
the  taller  trees.  "Can  you  see  them?" 

"Not  without  my  spectacles,"  said  Mr.  Twistleton. 
"My  eyes  are  not  as  young  as  yours." 

Peggy  wondered  how  old  her  father  was,  but  she  knew 
it  was  not  polite  to  ask  old  people  their  age.  For  some 
reason  she  could  not  understand,  they  did  not  like  it. 
Once  when  Miss  Busby  had  a  birthday  she  had  asked 
her  how  old  she  was  and  Miss  Busby  had  told  her  she 
was  the  rudest  child  she  had  ever  seen.  Peggy  did  not 
wish  to  be  rude,  but  how  were  you  to  know  things  ?  Celia 
Aysgarth  did  not  mind  being  asked  her  age.  She  was 
nine,  like  Peggy. 

"Celia  Aysgarth  teaches  the  squirrels  to  come  in  at 
the  schoolroom  window  and  eat  nuts,"  she  said  to  her 
father.  "She  says  if  ever  I  go  there  she  will  let  me  see 
them.  We  shall  have  to  sit  as  quiet  as  mice  and  then 
they  will  come." 

"Have  you  never  been  to  Tirril  House,  then?"  said 
her  father. 

"No,  never,"  said  Peggy,  with  a  sigh.  "Mabel  has 
been  often." 

"Haven't  you  been  asked?" 

"Yes,  I'm  always  asked.  I  should  like  to  go  and  see 
the  squirrels.  I  should  like  to  teach  them  to  come  into 
our  schoolroom." 

"Well,  why  don't  you?" 

"Nuts,"  said  Peggy ;  "they  eat  tons  of  nuts  and  they 
leave  the  shells  about.  I'm  afraid  Miss  Busby  would  say 
they  made  a  mess.  She  doesn't  like  Dingo  much  because 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  55 

of  his  hairs.  I  expect  the  squirrels  wouldn't  like  Dingo 
either." 

"You  seem  very  fond  of  that  dog,"  said  Mr.  Twistle- 
ton,  for  Dingo  had  left  the  wall  now  and  made  a  rush 
into  Peggy's  lap. 

"I  love  him  more  than  anything  in  the  world,"  said 
Peggy,  cuddling  his  wriggling  little  body  to  her,  and 
allowing  his  pink  tongue  to  respond  with  affection. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  remember  your  own  mother?" 

"I  do,"  said  Peggy,  her  whole  frame  tense  with  excite- 
ment. "Indeed  I  do." 

"What  can  you  remember  ?  You  were  only  three  years 
old  when  she  .  .  .  when  she  died." 

"I  remember  heaps  of  things  .  .  .  the  color  of  her 
frock  and  the  feel  of  her  when  I  sat  on  her  knee  .  .  . 
and  her  voice,  and  eyes  and  hair." 

"She  didn't  always  wear  the  same  frock." 

"I  remember  one.  It  was  blue,  rather  a  dark  blue 
like  cornflowers,  and  it  had  silver  threads  in  it,  and  she 
wore  a  diamond  heart.  ...  I  saw  the  heart  the  other 
day." 

"Where?" 

"Mother  wore  it."  Peggy's  voice  changed  as  she  an- 
swered her  father,  and  Mr.  Twistleton  noted  the  change. 
She  had  turned  scared  and  half-sulky,  as  he  had  often 
seen  her  in  his  second  wife's  presence;  but  before  he 
spoke  the  expression  passed,  and  she  looked  up  again. 

"Why  do  you  say  my  own  mother  died?"  she  asked, 
and  Mr.  Twistleton  felt  taken  aback.  He  did  not  know 
how  much  Peggy  had  been  told  of  the  true  state  of 
affairs.  His  orders  had  been  given,  but  who  can  control 
the  tongues  of  busybodies  and  fools  ? 

"I  mean  that  she  died  to  you  and  me,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"Was  she  married  to  you?" 

"Of  course." 


56  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"Did  you  divorce  her  .  .  .  like  Catharine  of  Aragon  ?" 

To  hear  a  child  of  nine  talk  of  divorce  made  Mr. 
Twistleton  jump,  until  the  introduction  of  Catharine  of 
Aragon's  name  reminded  him  that  Henry  VIII.'s  matri- 
monial advantures  were  as  well  known  in  schoolrooms 
as  fairy  tales. 

"There  was  a  divorce,"  he  admitted. 

"Will  she  ever  come  back?" 

"Certainly  not.  She  married  a  Major  Coverdale,  and 
is  now  a  widow." 

"Can't  I  go  to  her?" 

"Not  till  you  are  sixteen." 

"She  is  alive,  then?" 

"I  believe  so." 

But  at  nine  you  cannot  look  forward  to  what  you  will 
do  when  you  are  sixteen.  It  seems  a  long  way  off,  and 
in  fact  it  is. 

"Why  can't  I  go  now?"  she  asked  her  father,  and 
wondered  why  Mr.  Twistleton  looked  at  her  so  oddly. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  explain  all  that  to  you  yet,"  he 
said,  getting  up  and  beginning  to  walk  towards  home. 
He  walked  slowly  as  if  he  was  tired,  and  once  on  the 
way  back  he  sat  down  to  rest  again. 


CHAPTER   VII 

A  GARDEN-PARTY  at  Beda  Close  was  in  full 
swing.  Lawn-tennis  was  being  played  on  the  grass 
courts  and  on  the  cinder  one.  A  croquet  match 
was  in  progress  on  the  croquet  lawn.  Indoors  and  out 
of  doors  guests  were  eating  and  drinking  and  looking 
at  each  other's  clothes.  Mr.  Twistleton,  the  picture  of 
depression  and  bodily  failure,  tried  to  do  his  duty  as 
host,  and  Mrs.  Twistleton  looked  as  gorgeous  as  a  por- 
trait by  Titian,  in  a  color  that  was  neither  brown  nor 
red,  but  reminded  you  of  autumn.  She  did  not  suit  the 
countryside,  someone  said  of  her  this  afternoon,  and  it 
was  true.  Her  slow,  lazy  walk,  her  derisive  glance,  h«r 
clothes  that  made  everyone  else's  clothes  look  clumsy, 
and  her  curious  inanimate  eyes  all  suggested  interiors 
worlds  away  from  a  highly  respectable  house  in  a  highly 
respectable  neighborhood.  But  her  guests  found,  as  her 
housemates  did,  that  although  she  moved  slowly,  she 
moved  with  a  purpose  and  had  her  eyes  everywhere. 
To  some  she  was  considerate :  to  others  ruthless.  Poor 
Miss  Busby  had  put  on  her  Sunday  frock,  a  heavily-made 
khaki-colored  linen  that  in  juxtaposition  to  her  sallow 
complexion  was  far  from  attractive.  With  it  she  wore 
a  cheap  but  jaunty  panama  hat,  and  you  wondered  when 
you  looked  at  her  why  she  had  been  fool  enough  to 
buy  it.  Mrs.  Twistleton  allowed  her  to  make  an  appear- 
ance with  her  two  pupils,  both  dressed  in  white,  and  then 
told  her  to  take  them  and  two  other  children  who  were 
present  to  a  remote  spot  in  the  grounds  where  there  was 
a  game  of  Spiral  Pole,  and  keep  them  there. 

57 


,58  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Do  you  mean  all  the  afternoon?"  Miss  Busby  had 
asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton.  "I  can't  do  with  children 
here." 

So  Miss  Busby  moved  off,  sad  at  heart  because  these 
instructions  blighted  her  hopes  of  conversing  with  Mr. 
Crabbe,  an  elderly  curate  for  whom  she  cherished  a  hope- 
less passion.  She  had  imagined  herself  finding  him  rather 
lonely,  bringing  him  tea  and  cakes,  talking  to  him  first 
of  airy  trifles,  and  then  perhaps  of  better  things.  But 
alas,  for  the  gulf  that  separates  reality  from  imagination ! 
He  had  a  cup  of  tea  in  his  hand  and  was  talking  to 
General  and  Mrs.  Aysgarth  when  she  passed  close  to 
him  leading  her  flock.  The  two  men  took  their  hats 
off  with  perfunctory  politeness,  Mrs.  Aysgarth  said  a 
pleasant  word  or  two,  and  the  episode  was  over  for  the 
afternoon.  Miss  Busby  felt  quite  wicked  and  rebellious, 
but  she  could  do  nothing.  The  children,  too,  were  dis- 
appointed. Mabel  did  not  want  to  be  conducted  so  far 
from  the  refreshments.  Her  idea  of  enjoyment  at  a 
party  was  to  find  a  quiet  corner  and  stoke  steadily. 
There  were  strawberries  and  cream  to  be  had  this  after- 
noon, and  little  iced  cakes  and  peaches  from  Liverpool. 
The  two  strange  children  felt  shy.  Peggy  had  Dingo 
with  her  on  a  lead  and  was  having  one  of  those  pro- 
longed dialogues  with  him  in  which  she  spoke  his  part 
as  well  as  her  own,  and  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for 
anyone  else. 

"I  know  what  we'll  do,"  said  Mabel.  "We'll  go  in 
the  kitchen  garden." 

"Your  mother  said  you  were  all  to  play  Spiral  Pole," 
said  Miss  Busby. 

"Mother  won't  care  what  we  do,  as  long  as  we  keep 
out  of  her  way,"  argued  Mabel,  who  was  capable  of 
considerable  shrewdness  where  her  own  interests  were 
concerned.  "There  is  a  nice  sunny  seat  in  the  kitchen 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  59 

garden  for  you,  Buzzie,  and  the  gooseberries  are  ripe. 
We'll  gather  some  for  you  as  well  as  for  ourselves." 

"You'll  make  such  a  mess  of  your  clothes,"  said  Miss 
Busby,  greatly  tempted. 

"No,  we  sha'n't.  The  nets  have  been  taken  off  for  the 
afternoon,  so  there'll  be  no  scrambling;  and  gooseberries 
are  not  as  squashy  as  strawberries  or  raspberries.  I 
hate  that  damp,  dark  corner  near  the  Spiral  Pole,  and 
there  are  no  seats  there." 

"I  hate  it  too,"  admitted  Miss  Busby,  uncertain  what 
to  do.  It  was  just  like  Mrs.  Twistleton  to  have  bundled 
them  off  to  the  dreariest  corner  of  the  garden,  and 
Mabel's  proposal  was  sensible  and  alluring.  She  could 
sit  in  a  sunny  corner  and  think  of  Mr.  Crabbe,  while  the 
children  made  themselves  happy  amongst  the  gooseberry 
bushes.  If  her  charges  tore  their  frocks  she  must  mend 
them. 

"You  must  be  very  careful,"  she  said  to  all  four. 
"You  will  be  seen  again  at  the  end  of  the  afternoon, 
and  it  would  never  do  if  you  were  not  clean  and  tidy." 

"There  won't  be  a  wrinkle  on  any  of  us,  I  promise 
you,"  said  Mabel. 

Miss  Busby  knew  that  Mabel  was  a  child  who  con- 
stantly and  easily  promised  what  she  could  not  perform : 
but  the  kitchen  garden  door  stood  open,  and  the  sun 
was  shining  there.  Miss  Busby  found  a  warm  delicious 
seat,  close  to  some  lavender  bushes,  soon  felt  drowsy, 
shut  her  eyes,  and  never  noticed  that  Peggy  had  escaped 
with  Dingo. 

Peggy  liked  gooseberries,  but  she  liked  being  on  Low 
Tarn  still  better,  and  for  some  days  she  had  not  had  a 
chance  of  escape;  in  fact,  she  had  not  been  out  by 
herself  since  she  had  met  her  father  on  the  fell  side,  and 
he  had  spoken  to  her  of  her  mother.  She  had  told  no 
one  about  this  talk  except  Dingo,  and  she  had  only  been 
able  to  tell  him  at  odd  moments,  and  when  they  were 


60  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

by  themselves:  but  the  discovery  that  her  mother  was 
alive  had  stirred  the  child  to  the  depths.  Her  father 
believed  it  and  he  must  surely  know.  He  had  told  her 
that  she  could  go  to  her  mother  in  seven  years,  but  seven 
years  is  an  interminable  time.  Peggy  had  made  a  sum 
of  it  in  days,  and  every  day  would  be  as  long  as  yesterday 
or  to-morrow.  To-day  was  lasting  a  long  while,  but  so 
far  it  had  not  been  unpleasant.  She  had  got  on  better 
than  usual  with  her  lessons  this  morning,  and  at  lunch 
Mother  had  been  occupied  with  Mr.  Barnes,  who  was 
staying  in  the  house.  Miss  Busby  said  he  was  father's 
solicitor,  but  Peggy  did  not  know  what  that  meant.  He 
lived  in  Manchester  and  had  little  girls  of  his  own,  he 
told  Peggy;  and  he  had  been  rather  kind  to  her.  After 
lunch  Miss  Busby  had  said  they  were  not  to  have  their 
usual  walk,  as  they  must  keep  fresh  for  the  fatigues  of 
the  afternoon,  and  that  she  would  like  a  nap;  so  Mabel 
and  Peggy  had  played  Demon  Patience  and  Peggy  had 
won.  Then  they  had  put  on  their  best  white  frocks  and 
hats  and  gone  downstairs.  Peggy  had  scrubbed  her  hands 
and  brushed  her  nails  most  carefully,  because  at  lunch 
she  had  seen  Mr.  Barnes  look  at  her  hands,  and  when 
she  looked  herself  they  were  not  quite  as  clean  as  his 
were.  Grown-up  people  never  seemed  to  have  any  diffi- 
culty with  their  hands :  at  least  those  who  came  to  lunch 
did  not.  Paterson's  hands  were  always  ingrained  with 
dirt,  and  Dixon's  were  dirty  when  he  was  cleaning  the 
car,  but  they  could  not  help  it,  so  it  would  not  be  polite 
to  look  at  them.  Peggy  had  tried  hard  to  keep  clean 
herself  ever  since  Mr.  Gerard  had  found  her  all  tear- 
stained  and  grubby.  He  had  said  he  would  come  again, 
and  she  wanted  him  to  find  her  looking  as  she  did  to-day, 
in  her  new  white  frock  and  best  hat.  If  he  were  to 
come  to-day  and  she  put  her  arm  round  his  neck  she 
would  not  leave  a  mark  on  his  collar.  She  wished  he 
would  come.  She  had  written  him  a  letter  to  thank  him 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  61 

for  Dingo,  but  she  wanted  to  thank  him  by  word  of 
mouth  too. 

While  Peggy  considered  these  matters  she  got  into  the 
boat  on  the  tarn  with  Dingo  and  rowed  to  the  end  where 
there  were  no  weeds.  His  yelps  had  been  earn-splitting 
till  he  was  in  the  water,  but  now  he  was  paddling  close 
to  her  with  a  stick  in  his  mouth  and  bliss  in  his  eyes. 
This  was  very  well,  but  sooner  or  later  she  must  beach 
the  boat,  and  what  would  happen  then?  He  would  be 
all  over  her  clean  frock,  barking  shrilly  and  wanting 
her  to  throw  a  fresh  stick  into  the  water.  He  never 
knew  when  he  had  enough  sticks  and  enough  water,  and 
she  could  only  get  him  away  by  walking  away  herself 
and  calling  him.  He  would  come  then,  sure  enough,  and 
jump  up  at  her.  What  a  dilemma  she  was  in  again! 
She  saw  now  that  she  ought  to  have  stayed  in  the  kitchen 
garden  with  the  other  children,  and  kept  her  frock  clean. 
But  if  she  sent  Dingo  to  the  other  end  of  the  tarn  she 
might  land  quickly  and  then  keep  him  off  with  an  oar 
till  he  quieted  down.  That  seemed  the  best  thing  to  do, 
so  she  shipped  her  oars,  snatched  at  a  stick  floating  within 
reach,  stood  up  to  throw  it  as  far  as  she  could,  over- 
balanced in  the  act  and  flopped  into  the  water.  She 
had  done  this  once  before,  and  was  not  much  afraid 
of  drowning.  There  were  mud  holes;  but  in  most  places 
the  tarn  was  only  two  feet  deep  and  she  was  not  far 
from  shore,  but  the  water  enveloped  and  bewildered  her 
for  a  moment,  and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  took  a  long 
time  to  scramble  to  her  knees  and  then  to  her  feet. 
Victor  Gerard  tearing  through  the  trees  to  her  help  got 
a  picture  of  the  streaming,  red-headed  child  rising  from, 
the  water,  of  the  drifting  boat,  the  swimming  dog,  the 
sub-tropical  growth  of  bamboos  and  big-leaved  aquatic 
plants,  making  a  thicket  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  tam, 
and  of  a  mountain  ash  amongst  other  trees  behind,  with 
its  berries  beginning  to  turn  red. 


62  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Don't  come  in  and  get  wet!"  shouted  Peggy,  walking 
slowly  towards  him. 

"I  thought  you  were  drowning,"  he  said.  "I  saw  you 
tumble  in." 

She  reached  the  shore  and  shivered.  Dingo  reached 
the  shore  too,  and  crouched,  guarding  his  stick  between 
his  paws  and  looking  at  her  patiently. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  she  said  in  bleak  despair. 

"Go  home  and  put  on  dry  things,"  said  Victor. 

"But  I  can't  go  home  without  being  seen." 

"You  can't  stay  here." 

"But  I  was  to  keep  myself  clean  and  tidy.  This  is 
my  best  frock." 

She  looked  up  at  Victor  to  find  out  what  he  thought 
of  the  situation,  but  she  was  not  old  enough  to  interpret 
the  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  gave  away  the 
severe  mask  of  his  face. 

"Come  along,"  he  said.  "You'll  have  to  put  up  with 
a  second-best  frock  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  If  you 
dawdle  here  you'll  get  a  chill." 

Before  he  had  finished  speaking,  and  before  he  could 
stop  her,  Peggy  had  made  a  rush  into  the  water  again, 
followed  by  Dingo,  barking  with  excitement. 

"Come  back !"  shouted  Victor  in  his  most  raucous 
parade  voice. 

"I  must  get  the  boat!"  called  Peggy,  and  he  watched 
her  wade  out,  get  hold  of  it  and  bring  it  ashore.  When 
it  grounded  he  beached  it  for  her,  while  she  took  Dingo's 
slippery  body  in  her  arms,  but  found  she  was  trembling 
too  violently  with  chill  and  shock  to  hold  him. 

"Could  you  carry  Dingo?"  she  said  to  Victor. 

"I  could  not,"  said  Victor.  "I'm  going  to  the  garden- 
party." 

Her  teeth  were  chattering  with  cold  now,  but  Dingo's 
safety  was  of  paramount  importance.  To  Victor's  sur- 
prise she  sat  down  amidst  the  long  coarse*  grass  that 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  63 

grew  here  and  began  to  fumble  with  one  of  her  shoe- 
laces. 

"What  the  .  .  .  didn't  I  tell  you  to  come  back  to  the 
house  at  once?"  he  cried,  seizing  her  by  one  arm  and 
pulling  her  to  her  feet. 

"But  I  want  to  make  a  lead  for  Dingo  with  my  shoe- 
lace," she  argued.  "I  had  one,  but  I  must  have  left  it 
in  the  kitchen  garden.  Have  you  any  string?" 

"I  have  not." 

"You  have  a  cravat  .  .  .  but  perhaps  you  would  rather 
not  take  it  off?" 

"I  would  much  rather  not.  We'll  keep  an  eye  on 
Dingo.  Come  along  at  once  now.  I  shall  be  late  for  the 
party  as  it  is,  and  by  the  time  you  have  changed  your 
things  it  will  be  over." 

"I  expect  I  shall  have  to  go  to  bed,"  said  Peggy  with 
dreary  premonition. 

"It  would  be  the  best  place  for  you,"  said  Victor,  and 
signed  to  her  to  go  ahead  of  him  in  a  narrow  path  they 
were  approaching.  Their  progress  was  necessarily  slow 
because  Peggy's  wet  clothes  hung  like  lead  on  her:  but 
as  they  went  they  talked  of  Dingo  and  his  manifold 
perfections.  She  found  that  Victor  had  a  fox-terrier 
called  Toby,  but  rats  were  Toby's  enemies,  rather  than 
cats.  They  agreed  that  this  was  a  more  convenient 
idiosyncrasy,  for  few  people  cherished  rats. 

"Have  you  brought  him  with  you  ?"  asked  Peggy. 

"No,  I  left  him  in  Manchester,"  said  Victor. 

"Why  did  you?  He  might  have  made  friends  with 
Dingo  and  told  him  that  rats  were  interesting.  Perhaps 
if  we  could  catch  a  rat  and  show  it  to  Dingo.  .  .  .  Are 
you  staying  with  us  ?" 

"No.  I'm  staying  at  the  Hallinwater  Hotel.  I  walked 
along  the  lake  and  over  the  hause  to-day.  That's  why 
I  came  past  the  tarn  and  saw  you  pitch  into  it." 

"May  I  come  with  you  till  we  get  to  the  path  that 


64  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

leads  to  the  back  door?  I'll  go  that  way  and  you  can  go 
on  to  the  party.  We  shall  be  able  just  to  see  the  people 
at  the  corner  where  that  path  joins  this  one:  but  they 
won't  see  us.  I  expect  you'd  be  ashamed  to  be  seen 
with  me." 

"I  should  be  proud  to  be  seen  with  you.  You'd  be  a 
unique  object  at  a  garden-party.  If  we  appeared  there 
together  we  should  be  the  cynosure  of  every  eye." 

"The  what?"  said  Peggy.  "I  believe  you're  laughing 
at  me." 

"Do  you  mind  being  laughed  at?" 

"Not  when  it's  you.  Your  eyes  are  always  laughing. 
I  once  saw  an  elephant." 

"Did  you,  and  was  it  laughing?" 

"No ;  but  its  eyes  were  rather  like  yours.  This  is  the 
place.  If  you  stoop  down  and  peep  through  those  bushes 
you  can  see  the  house  and  all  the  people.  I  can  see 
Mother.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  good-by,"  said  Victor.  "Hurry  on  and  take 
off  your  wet  things." 

"Dingo!"  cried  Peggy.  "I  must  carry  Dingo!"  And 
before  Victor  could  stop  her  she  had  rushed  after  the 
dog.  He  followed  her  along  the  broad  path  leading  to 
the  front  of  the  house  and  saw  her  catch  Dingo  in  full 
view  of  the  astonished  people  assembled  there. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

PEGGY  and  Victor  arrived  together  on  the  big  lawn 
in  front  of  the  house,  the  lawn  on  which  most  of 
the  seats  were  placed  and  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Twistleton  were  both  standing  near  groups  of  their 
guests.  Jordan  and  his  assistants  were  carrying  trays 
with  strawberries  and  cream ;  the  sun  was  shining,  smart 
sunshades  were  unfurled,  a  golden  haze  veiled  the  fells 
and  the  light  sparkled  on  every  ripple  of  the  water. 
Till  Peggy  arrived  all  was  going  well :  but  she  brought 
catastrophe  with  her.  It  was  startling  enough  to  see  her 
emerge,  a  pitiable  little  creature,  dripping  wet,  pallid 
with  fright  and  chill,  and  nursing  a  slippery  fox-terrier, 
as  the  Duchess  nursed  the  pig:  but  that  shock  was  suc- 
ceeded by  another  when  the  fox-terrier  gave  a  frenzied 
yelp,  escaped  from  her  arms,  and  flashed  across  the  lawn 
like  a  streak  of  lightning.  Peggy  dashed  after  him  as 
well  as  she  could  in  her  clinging  clothes,  and  Victor  went 
after  her,  lifting  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Twistleton  as  he  passed 
by.  A  good  many  people  followed  to  see  what  was  the 
matter,  for  sounds  of  mortal  conflict  reached  them  and 
disturbed  the  peace  of  the  afternoon.  They  arrived  in 
time  to  see  the  end  of  the  tragedy,  but  not  to  prevent 
it:  for  in  a  fury  of  blood-lust  and  long  thwarted  hate 
Dingo  had  found  Carlo,  fastened  on  his  throat,  deeply 
this  time,  and  killed  him  before  Peggy  could  interfere. 
Someone  near  had  tried  to  beat  Dingo  off  with  a  sun- 
shade, but  she  might  as  well  have  tickled  him  with  a 
feather.  A  poker  would  hardly  detach  him  from  a  cat 
once  he  was  locked  in  battle.  Peggy  had  plunged  upon 

65 


66  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

the  adversaries  without  any  sign  of  fear,  and  was  still 
biting  Dingo's  tail,  her  determined  impish  little  face 
nearly  as  white  as  his  coat;  but  she  had  not  succeeded 
yet  in  making  the  dog  free  his  prey.  He  was  still  shaking 
it  like  a  rat  and  growling  happily  and  wickedly  over  the 
inanimate  body. 

"Come  away,"  said  Victor,  and  administered  a  kick 
to  Dingo  that  sent  him  flying. 

"You've  hurt  Dingo !"  wailed  Peggy. 

"I  wish  I'd  never  given  him  to  you,"  said  Victor,  and 
stopped  short  because  Peggy  was  staring  in  a  helpless, 
frightened  way  at  her  step-mother,  who  now  arrived  on 
the  scene. 

As  far  as  Victor  could  see,  nothing  further  happened 
at  that  moment  that  should  not  have  happened.  Mrs. 
Twistleton,  having  considerable  cause  for  displeasure, 
behaved  with  calm.  She  did  not  even  ask  many  ques- 
tions. She  told  Peggy  to  go  indoors  at  once  and  put 
on  dry  things.  She  sent  for  a  gardener  to  remove  the 
dead  cat.  She  moved  slowly  back  to  the  lawn  with 
those  of  her  guests  who  were  near,  and  she  talked  to 
Victor  about  his  walk  over  the  hause.  In  fact,  she  gave 
him  the  impression  of  being  completely  mistress  of  her- 
self and  her  surroundings.  He  admired  her  and  he 
apologized  to  her  for  having  given  Peggy  a  dog  with 
such  troublesome  proclivities. 

"Of  course  I  didn't  know,"  he  said.  "I  wish  you'd  let 
me  send  you  another  cat." 

"But  that  wouldn't  do,"  he  went  on,  as  she  did  not 
speak ;  "some  day  Dingo  would  kill  it,  and  as  for  parting 
Peggy  and  Dingo,  it's  unthinkable,  isn't  it?  The  child 
would  break  her  heart." 

It  was  her  turn  to  speak  and  to  make  some  suggestion, 
he  thought;  but  she  preserved  a  sphinx-like  silence  that 
was  disconcerting.  It  made  him  feel  as  if  he  had 
floundered. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  67 

"Where  did  Peggy  fall  into  the  water?"  she  asked 
after  a  pause. 

"She  toppled  into  it  from  the  boat  on  Low  Tarn,"  he 
said.  "I  saw  her.  She  was  throwing  a  stick  for  Dingo 
and  overbalanced  herself.  I  was  just  going  in  after  her 
when  she  came  wading  out." 

He  hoped  he  was  not  giving  Peggy  away,  but  he  had 
to  answer.  Probably  she  ought  not  to  have  been  in 
the  water.  She  was  evidently  a  child  who  got  into  mis- 
chief and  needed  a  firm  hand:  but  the  contrast  between 
her  fearlessness  in  some  respects  and  the  stony  terror 
in  her  eyes  at  times  struck  him  as  odd.  However,  she 
was  not  his  business  at  present,  and  would  not  be  for 
years  to  come  probably :  perhaps  never.  He  rather  liked 
her,  but  he  was  glad  he  had  not  the  management  of 
her.  He  wondered  who  was  looking  after  her  indoors 
and  whether  she  would  get  a  chill.  Mrs.  Twistleton  did 
not  seem  to  trouble  much.  She  kept  him  in  tow  for 
a  little  while,  and  then  introduced  him  to  the  prettiest 
girl  present:  so  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  passed  quickly 
and  pleasantly.  He  did  not  see  Peggy  again,  and  when 
he  started  to  walk  back  he  was  not  thinking  of  her  and 
her  troubles. 

Victor  Gerard  was  the  prosperous  son  of  a  prosperous 
man.  The  father  had  made  money  at  home  and  the 
son,  going  to  Australia,  had  added  to  his  inheritance.  He 
had  rushed  to  the  colors  when  war  broke  out,  fought 
mostly  on  the  French  front,  been  wounded  twice,  re- 
ceived the  M.C.,  and  now  at  the  age  of  thirty-five  felt 
uncertain  what  to  do  next.  His  father's  business  was  in 
other  hands.  His  own  had  been  more  or  less  wound  up 
soon  after  his  return  to  England.  He  might  have  to  go 
out  again  for  a  short  time,  but  he  did  not  mean  to  stay. 
His  only  sister  was  married  in  Manchester,  and  he  had 
no  other  ties.  Since  he  had  been  demobilized  in  March 
he.  had  made  his  brother-in-law's  house  his  headquarters, 


68  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

but  he  did  not  mean  to  live  in  Manchester.  He  did  not 
quite  know  yet  where  he  wanted  to  live.  He  was  taking 
it  easy  after  the  war  for  a  time.  The  Twistletons  were 
old  family  friends,  and  he  had  heard  his  father's  version 
of  Henry  Twistleton's  disastrous  marriage.  He  had 
never  seen  Daphne,  and  until  he  had  been  taken  to  see 
Peggy  he  had  hardly  known  that  there  was  a  child.  In 
April  he  had  thought  Mr.  Twistleton  looked  a  hale  man 
for  his  years ;  but  now,  in  July,  he  was  shocked  to  see 
the  change  in  him.  In  April  Mr.  Twistleton  had  asked 
him  if  he  would  consent  to  be  executor  of  his  will  and 
co-guardian  with  Mrs.  Twistleton  of  Peggy:  and  he  had 
consented,  as  a  young  man  does  consent  to  a  request  of 
this  kind,  without  expecting  to  be  charged  with  its  duties 
for  years  to  come.  But  as  he  made  his  way  back  to  the 
hotel  to-night,  Mr.  Twistleton's  drawn  features  and 
waxen  pallor  weighed  on  his  mind,  and  he  realized  that 
he  had  put  his  hand  to  a  task  that  the  near  future  might 
exact  of  him.  However,  he  still  thought  that  the  busi- 
ness of  the  guardianship  would  be  financial.  If  her 
husband  died  Mrs.  Twistleton  would  continue  to  bring 
up  Peggy  as  her  own  child.  She  was  a  peculiar-looking 
woman,  and  though  he  admired  her  composure  and  her 
efficiency  he  hardly  felt  attracted.  There  was  something 
about  her  eyes  that  he  disliked  and  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  were  either  cruel  or  greedy:  he  hardly  knew 
which.  He  knew  nothing  of  her  history  or  her  descent. 
It  would  not  have  surprised  him  to  find  that  she  had  a 
slight  strain  of  black  blood  in  her.  The  whites  of  her 
eyes  had  a  blue  tinge  not  often  seen  in  Aryans,  and  her 
hair  waved  more  than  black  hair  usually  does  on  English 
people. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  evening.  The  haze  had  melted 
from  the  fells,  leaving  them  clear  and  blue  in  the  light 
of  a  sickle  moon.  The  path  by  which  Victor  was  making 
his  way  back  to  the  hotel  sometimes  took  him  high  above 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  69 

the  water  and  sometimes  close  to  it.  Here  he  crossed 
fields  and  streams,  there  he  came  out  on  a  fell  side  and 
walked  shoulder-high  through  bracken:  for  a  time  he 
clambered  over  moss-grown  rocks  lying  strewn  in  a  wood 
as  if  giants  had  played  with  them  and  cast  them  there. 
The  trees  of  the  wood  were  gnarled  and  twisted  by  rough 
weather,  and  beneath  the  covering  of  their  branches  it 
was  so  dark  now  that  he  had  to  pick  his  way  slowly. 
He  had  got  to  the  end  of  it  and  into  the  clear  evening 
light  again  when  he  heard  a  rustle  in  the  bracken  just 
ahead  of  him :  and  going  up  to  it  he  found  Peggy 
crouched  there  with  Dingo  in  her  arms. 

Peggy!  barefoot  and  in  her  nightgown.  Her  eyes  red 
with  crying,  her  body  shivering  with  cold,  the  image  of 
misery. 

"What  in  the  name  of  mischief  are  you  doing  here?" 
he  cried.  "Sleep-walking?" 

Peggy  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  was  looking  at  him 
with  the  blend  of  scare  and  hardihood  that  he  had  seen 
in  her  before. 

"I  was  waiting  for  you,"  she  said. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?" 

"I  like  you,"  said  Peggy. 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  I  like  you  too;  but  I'm  on  my 
way  home  now,  and  to  judge  by  your  appearance  you 
ought  to  be  in  bed." 

"I  was  in  bed.  I  had  to  go  there  before  tea  because 
I  fell  in  the  water." 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  there?" 

"I  got  out  of  the  window." 

"Got  out  of  the  window !  Do  you  sleep  on  the  ground 
floor  then?" 

"It  isn't  very  high.  You  get  hold  of  the  wistaria 
and  just  sling  yourself  down.  I  never  did  it  before, 
but  I've  often  thought  I  would,  and  to-day  I  had  to." 

"Why  didn't  you  put  on  some  clothes  and  shoes?" 


70  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"I  wanted  to  be  quick  and  quiet.  If  they  found  me 
they'd  whip  me." 

"Quite  right  too.  I'd  whip  a  child  who  got  out  of  the 
window  when  I'd  put  it  to  bed." 

"Would  you?"  Peggy's  eyes  looked  twice  their  usual 
size  as  they  fixed  themselves  on  Victor's  face. 

"Of  course  I  would.  That  sort  of  thing  won't  do.  I 
smacked  my  nephew  the  other  day  when  he  was  dis- 
obedient." 

"Did  he  cry?" 

"Not  much." 

"Perhaps  you  didn't  smack  hard  enough." 

"Perhaps  I  didn't.     I  shall  know  better  next  time." 

"Look  at  my  feet,"  said  Peggy.  And  supporting  her- 
self by  clutching  at  Victor's  sleeve  she  stood  on  one 
foot  and  held  up  the  other  for  his  inspection.  The  sole 
of  it  was  cut  and  bleeding  and  covered  with  earth. 

"That's  your  own  doing,"  said  Victor.  "What  a  silly 
child  you  must  be  to  run  all  this  way  without  shoes." 

"They  hurt,"  said  Peggy,  "but  I  don't  mind." 

Victor  sat  down  and  took  the  shivering  little  figure  on 
his  knee.  She  snuggled  up  to  him  and  sighed.  He 
stroked  her  hair. 

"I  detest  children,"  he  said. 

She  wriggled  still  closer  within  his  arms. 

"Especially  children  like  you  .  .  .  always  in  mischief 
and  always  giving  trouble.  As  for  Dingo,  I  think  I  shall 
take  him  back  to  Manchester  with  me." 

"I  want  you  to,"  said  Peggy. 

That  was  the  last  answer  that  Victor  expected,  and 
he  felt  nonplused. 

"They  are  going  to  drown  him,"  explained  Peggy,  and 
so  explained  a  good  deal :  Mrs.  Twistleton's  sinister 
silence  for  one  thing,  and  the  child's  valiant  attempt  to 
save  her  friend. 

"Who  told  you  so?"  asked  Victor. 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  71 

"Rose,  the  under-housemaid.  She  is  Paterson's 
daughter.  He  was  to  be  drowned  to-night  in  the  lake." 

"How  did  you  get  hold  of  him?" 

"He  was  locked  up  in  the  old  potting-shed.  I'm  locked 
up  there  sometimes.  There  is  one  place  where  the  wood 
is  rotten.  I  made  a  little  hole  and  whispered  to  Dingo, 
and  he  squeezed  out.  No  one  saw  us.  Will  you  take 
him  to  Manchester  with  you?" 

"I  will  either  do  that  or  see  that  he  isn't  drowned." 

"I  think  he  would  be  safer  with  you." 

"But  wouldn't  you  miss  him?" 

That  was  too  much  for  Peggy.  She  buried  her  face 
on  Victor's  shoulder  and  wept  bitterly.  He  patted  her 
and  tried  to  comfort  her  as  well  as  he  could,  but  she  did 
not  stop  until  he  created  a  diversion  by  looking  at  her 
feet  again  and  saying  that  there  was  a  stream  close  by 
where  she  could  wash  them. 

"But  what's  the  use?"  she  argued.  "If  I  have  to  walk 
home  they'll  be  dirty  again  directly." 

"You  are  not  going  to  walk  home,"  said  he:  and  the 
next  moment  wondered  what  he  had  done  now.  For  the 
child  gave  a  whoop  of  ecstasy,  and  putting  both  her  arms 
round  his  neck  smothered  him  with  kisses.  Of  course 
Dingo,  seeing  and  hearing  the  excitement,  had  to  join 
in  it,  and  jumped  up  at  them  over  and  over  again,  bark- 
ing joyfully. 

"When  you've  both  quite  finished,  perhaps  you'll  tell 
me  what  the  joke  is,"  said  Victor,  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  his  breath.  "You  didn't  suppose  I  was  going  to  leave 
you  out  here  all  night,  did  you?" 

"But  you're  going  to  take  me  with  you  to  Manchester, 
aren't  you?" 

"Not  for  the  mines  of  Golconda.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose I  should  do  with  you  in  Manchester?" 

"Couldn't  I  live  in  the  same  house  as  your  nephew, 
the  one  you  smacked?" 


72  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"I'm  afraid  not.  Come  along,  I'm  going  to  let  you 
wash  your  feet  in  the  stream  and  then  I'm  going  to  carry 
you  back." 

Peggy's  face  had  fallen  and  she  did  not  speak  again 
while  she  paddled  over  the  soft,  short  grass  to  the  stream 
close  by  and  there  held  her  bruised  feet  in  a  pool  amongst 
the  bowlders  that  Victor  found  for  her.  The  water  was 
too  cold  to  keep  them  in  it  long,  and  when  she  had 
finished  Victor  set  her  on  his  shoulders. 

"Hold  tight,"  he  said. 

"They'll  put  a  stone  round  Dingo's  neck  and  drown 
him." 

"Not  if  I  know  it." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  carry  me." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  can  walk.  I  walked  here  by  myself.  Then  you 
can  go  straight  back  to  the  Hallinwater  Hotel  with 
Dingo." 

"I  don't  wonder  they  beat  you,"  said  Victor.  "You 
sit  still  and  don't  dare  to  move  or  speak  till  I  say  you 
may.  Do  you  hear?" 

"May  I  stroke  your  hair?"  said  Peggy. 

"Oh,  damn !"  said  Victor,  who  had  been  walking  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand.  "No,  you  may  not !" 

"It  looks  so  smooth.  I  want  to,"  said  Peggy:  and 
she  did  it. 


CHAPTER   IX 

"TTTHAT  do  you  think  they  will  do  to  me?"  said 

\\  Peggy,  shivering  with  chill  and  unpleasant 
anticipation,  as  they  got  near  the  house. 

"What  do  you  think  you  deserve?"  said  Victor,  and 
tightened  his  hold  a  little.  He  detested  children,  but 
when  the  forlorn  creature  put  her  head  down  close  to 
his  so  that  he  felt  the  warmth  of  her  cheek  and  the  coax 
of  her  small  hand  on  his  hair,  his  ideas  about  them  seemed 
to  dissolve  in  an  unexpected  glow. 

''What  would  you  do  to  me?"  said  Peggy. 

"I  should  beat  you." 

"You  wouldn't."    Her  voice  was  close  to  his  ear. 

"I  should." 

Her  answer  was  to  rub  her  cheek  against  his  and 
snuggle  a  little  closer  to  him  than  before.  It  would  have 
been  disconcerting  if  her  conduct  had  concerned  him. 
Luckily  it  did  not. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  Dingo  back  with  you?"  she 
said  when  they  got  within  sight  of  the  house. 

"No,"  said  Victor. 

"Will  you  make  them  forgive  him?" 

"I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

"Even  if  they  promised  they  might  kill  him  after  you 
had  gone." 

"My  good  child "  began  Victor  in  astonishment, 

but  was  interrupted  by  Peggy,  who  said  in  her  flutey, 
matter-of-fact  treble: 

"Mother  likes  killing  things." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  said  Victor.  "I  suppose  you  mean 
she  shoots  rabbits  or  pheasants — and  you  eat  them." 

73 


74  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  said  the  child,  and  relapsed  into 
silence. 

The  house  was  in  sight  now  and  a  minute  or  two  later 
Peggy  asked  to  be  put  down. 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  right  in,"  said  Victor. 

"No  .  .  .  no,"  said  Peggy.  "Dingo  and  I  will  get  in 
by  the  back  way  and  I'll  go  straight  to  bed.  I  promise 
you  I  will.  Perhaps  they  won't  do  anything  to  me  till 
to-morrow." 

"You  go  to  sleep  and  don't  worry,"  said  Victor.  "I'll 
put  things  straight  for  you  this  once  .  .  .  but  next  time, 
mind.  .  .  ." 

He  had  carried  her  right  to  the  back  door  and  watched 
her  through  it  while  he  was  recovering  from  the  ardent 
embraces  of  parting.  Then  he  went  round  the  house  to 
the  front  door. 

What  arguments  he  used  Peggy  never  discovered,  but 
next  morning  he  was  still  there  because  he  had  been 
asked  to  dine  and  spend  the  night:  and  Dingo  was  not 
executed:  and  she  was  not  punished  this  time:  but  if 
ever  she  did  such  a  wicked  thing  again  she  would  be 
punished  severely. 

"What  did  you  say?"  she  asked  him  after  breakfast, 
when  he  came  up  to  see  her  for  a  moment  and  to  bid 
her  good-by.  But  he  did  not  tell  her  and  she  did  not 
have  him  to  herself  more  than  half  a  minute.  Miss 
Busby  came  into  the  schoolroom  and  engaged  him  in 
silly  grown-up  conversation  about  the  weather:  and  then 
Mabel  peacocked  in,  her  hair  curly  and  arranged,  her 
clothes  neat,  her  manner  expectant.  But  Victor  did  not 
turn  from  Peggy  to  her  as  most  visitors  did  at  once. 
Peggy  loved  him  more  than  ever  for  that.  He  only 
stayed  a  few  minutes  altogether,  but  he  let  her  sit  on 
his  knee  and  feel  that  they  were  friends.  When  he  went 
she  had  to  stand  with  her  back  to  the  room  and  pretend 
to  look  out  of  the  window  so  that  the  others  should 


'  LAW   AND   OUTLAW  75 

not  see  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  If  she  had  not  had  Dingo 
left  the  world  would  have  been  gray  and  empty  that 
day. 

After  this,  for  a  long  while,  life  went  on  as  usual: 
except  that  it  became  plainer,  even  to  the  schoolroom, 
that  Mr.  Twistleton  was  ill.  Lunch-parties  went  on  even 
when  the  host  could  not  be  present:  and  some  people 
came  to  stay,  but  as  a  rule  did  not  stay  long.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  could  not  live  like  a  recluse  because  her  hus- 
band was  in  a  bad  state  of  health,  said  Miss  Busby  to 
Jordan  when  they  had  a  little  conversation  one  day: 
and  he  seemed  to  agree  with  her.  But  Mrs.  Butterfield 
in  discussing  the  question  with  him  said  she  had  her  own 
opinion,  and  would  keep  it  to  herself.  A  woman  who 
could  see  her  husband  suffer  as  the  master  did  and  be 
thinking  about  prawns  in  aspic  and  fal-de-lals  all  the 
time  was  a  woman  who  had  a  stone  where  her  heart 
should  be.  No  doubt  a  stone  is  more  comfortable  in- 
side you  than  a  soft,  easily-upset  organ  like  a  heart: 
but  Mrs.  Butterfield  felt  sorry  for  the  old  man,  though 
he  had  been  a  hard  one  in  his  time.  The  nurses  said  he 
suffered  torments,  and  his  eyes  were  like  a  clog's,  asking, 
when  his  wife  came  near.  But  she  never  turned  a  hair 
or  lost  an  hour's  sleep,  or  a  meal  with  its  courses.  A 
wonderful  woman,  one  of  the  nurses  said,  who  was  a 
fool.  The  other,  who  was  not  a  fool,  said  nothing. 

So,  as  far  as  Peggy  was  concerned,  the  King  of  Ter- 
rors was  on  the  threshold  of  the  house  and  her  old 
imaginary  fears  became  as  painted  shadows  compared 
with  this  grim  reality.  Miss  Busby  talked  in  whispers 
to  the  nurses  and  servants :  whispers  that  the  children 
could  overhear.  A  great  surgeon  and  another  doctor 
came  from  Manchester,  and  the  schoolroom,  peeping 
through  a  door,  saw  them  arrive.  Next  morning  Mrs. 
Twistleton,  coming  into  the  schoolroom  for  a  moment, 
found  Miss  Busby  in  a  state  of  emotion  that  apparently 


76  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

made  the  usual  morning  lessons  out  of  question :  for 
Peggy,  looking  pale  and  scared,  was  hugging  Dingo  in 
the  window,  and  Mabel,  unmoved  and  unoccupied,  sat 
on  the  table  swinging  her  legs. 

"What  is  happening  here?"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 

"I  thought  ...  I  thought  .  .  ."  stammered  Miss 
Busby.  "It  is  so  difficult  to  fix  the  attention.  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Twistleton  looked  at  the  governess  and  then  at 
the  watch  on  her  wrist. 

"You  are  half  an  hour  late,"  she  said,  "but  you  can 
go  on  till  one  to-day.  I  want  two  of  the  children's  frocks, 
please  .  .  .  their  last  new  white  ones." 

Miss  Busby  pulled  herself  together,  fetched  the  frocks, 
and  when  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  gone  heaved  a  heavy  sigh 
and  started  an  arithmetic  lesson.  That  is  to  say,  she  set 
the  children  sums  and  while  they  did  them  let  her 
thoughts  wander  to  the  frocks.  Why  had  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton taken  them?  As  patterns?  But  no  new  ones  would 
be  wanted  unless.  .  .  .  Cold  blooded !  Yes :  to  be  sure 
Mrs.  Twistleton  was  cold-blooded.  But  she  did  not  know 
yet  whether  her  husband  would  live  or  die.  If  he  sur- 
vived the  operation  to  be  performed  this  morning,  he 
might  live  as  an  invalid  for  months  to  come.  Jordan, 
quoting  the  nurses,  had  said  so. 

The  stable  clock  struck  eleven.  Rose,  the  housemaid, 
brought  in  biscuits  and  milk  and  seemed  to  bring  in  with 
them  a  strange  clinging  scent  that  filled  the  room. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Mabel.    "I  don't  like  it." 

"It's  the  anesthetic,"  said  Miss  Busby.  "Ether  or 
chloroform,  or  both." 

"What  is  an  anesthetic?"  asked  Peggy,  who  had  an 
ear  for  words  and  had  followed  this  unknown  one  care- 
fully, though  her  tongue  stumbled  a  little  over  it. 

"Doctors  give  it  you  to  deaden  pain.  You  go  to 
sleep  and  feel  nothing  they  do  ...  not  even  if  they  cut 
off  your  leg." 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  77 

Peggy  shuddered. 

"But  when  you  wake  .  .  .  then  you  feel?" 

"Go  on  with  your  sums  and  don't  chatter,"  said  Miss 
Busby. 

At  lunch  the  two  doctors  were  present  and  Mrs. 
Twistleton  conversed  with  them  while  the  schoolroom 
ate  in  silence  and  asked  no  questions.  But  after  lunch 
Jordan  came  upstairs  and  spoke  to  Miss  Busby  in  whis- 
pers. His  face  was  grave.  Peggy  tried  to  hear  what  he 
said,  but  could  only  catch  disjointed  sentences  .  .  .  some- 
thing about  someone  "sinking,"  and  then  again,  "not 
through  the  night."  What  did  "sinking"  mean?  If  any- 
one tied  a  stone  round  Dingo's  neck  and  threw  him  into 
the  lake  he  would  sink:  but  Dingo  was  here  safe  and 
sound. 

"Is  Father  worse?"  she  asked. 

Her  father  had  not  played  any  part  in  her  little  life 
that  bound  her  warmly  to  him.  He  had  never  stood 
between  her  and  the  chill  rigors  of  her  step-mother's 
rule.  Although  Mabel  was  not  his  child  he  had  per- 
sistently made  Mabel  his  favorite :  losing  no  opportunity 
of  contrasting  her  with  Peggy  to  Peggy's  disadvantage. 
Mabel's  pinafore  was  always  clean  and  smooth:  Mabel's 
hair  was  always  tidy :  her  hands  were  clean :  her  shoes 
were  neat:  her  face  was  rosy  and  smiling.  How  was  it 
that  Peggy  could  or  would  not  follow  her  step-sister's 
good  example,  and  be  beloved  instead  of  constantly 
scolded  and  punished? 

She  was  not  so  much  moved  by  affection  as  by  terror 
and  pity,  and  by  the  sight  of  Miss  Busby's  commotion. 
She  wondered  what  was  happening  to  her  father. 

"He  is  very  ill,"  said  Miss  Busby,  and  buttoned  her 
mouth  in  a  way  both  children  knew.  It  meant  that  she 
had  information  they  were  not  to  share,  and  it  always 
annoyed  them. 

"Will  he  get  better?"  asked  Mabel,  and  was  told  that 


78  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

while  there  was  life  there  was  hope,  and  that  it  was  time 
for  the  daily  afternoon  walk. 

"I  think  it's  rather  heartless  to  do  lessons  and  go  for 
walks  just  as  usual  when  Father  is  dying,"  said  Mabel. 
who  had  an  uncanny  knack  of  expressing  what  Miss 
Busby  felt,  but  dared  not  say,  and  thereby  playing  up 
to  her. 

The  next  moment  she  was  locked  with  Peggy  in  a 
scuffle  that  ruffled  her  hair,  incarnadined  her  cheeks  and 
tore  her  pinafore  before  Miss  Busby  could  stop  it  by 
pulling  the  smaller  girl  violently  away  from  the  bigger 
one. 

"She  sha'n't  say  Father  is  dying!"  panted  Peggy.  "It 
isn't  true." 

"She  has  torn  my  pinafore!"  wailed  Mabel,  and  was 
not  appeased  by  being  told  that  Peggy  should  be  made 
to  mend  it:  for  Mabel  was  a  needlewoman  already  and 
Peggy  was  not.  However,  after  a  little  argument  Miss 
Busby  got  her  pupils  out  for  a  walk,  and  in  the  open  air 
it  seemed  to  Peggy  that  the  world  was  alive  again. 

But  when  they  got  back  the  house  still  smelt  of  ether 
and  still  brooded  silently  as  it  had  done  since  the  morn- 
ing. Servants  hardly  showed  themselves,  and,  if  they 
did,  spoke  in  whispers.  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  invisible. 
The  two  doctors  had  gone.  The  schoolroom  tea  was 
like  a  funeral  feast,  silent  and  awe-stricken.  For  once 
Peggy  was  glad  when  bedtime  came.  Bed  was  com- 
fortable, and  you  could  tell  yourself  what  stories  you 
pleased  as  you  went  to  sleep :  stories  of  fairies  and  witches 
and  talking  birds  and  beasts,  and  of  children  like  Snow 
White,  who  after  being  cruelly  treated  came  by  their 
own. 

It  was  neither  dark  nor  light,  but  earliest  dawn  when 
Peggy  was  waked  violently  out  of  sleep  and  sitting  up 
in  bed  saw  her  step-mother.  Mrs.  Twistleton's  face 
looked  spectral  to  the  child,  angry  and  hard  set,  with  a 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  79 

greenish  pallor  on  it  that  had  for  a  crown  the  black 
masses  of  her  hair.  Peggy  wanted  to  shriek  and  could 
not.  She  thought  that  her  last  hour  had  come  and  that 
she  was  to  be  murdered  as  the  little  boy  had  been:  the 
one  who  had  been  troublesome  and  was  well  out  of  the 
way. 

"Get  up,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton.  "Be  quick!  Your 
father  wants  to  see  you." 

Which  was  worse,  the  receding  imaginary  terror  or 
this  real  one  clutching  at  her?  Death  itself  awaited  her 
close  by  and  she  was  summoned  to  look  upon  it.  She 
knew  that  from  what  she  saw  in  her  step-mother's  face. 

"Must  I  come?"  she  asked  with  a  shiver. 

"Don't  you  want  to?"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton,  and  looked 
at  the  child  with  curiosity  but  not  with  pity. 

"Is  Father  dying?" 

"Yes.    If  you  are  not  quick.  .  .  ." 

"I'm  afraid." 

"I  can't  help  that.    You  must  come." 

The  child  crept  out  of  bed  and  followed  the  woman 
through  the  schoolroom  wing  and  along  the  corridor 
leading  to  the  chief  bedrooms  on  that  floor.  She  fol- 
lowed barefoot  and  in  her  nightgown,  her  heart  beating 
with  fright  and  her  small  body  cold.  She  did  not  know 
what  she  was  to  see.  Her  feet  carried  her  on  and  her 
fears  turned  her  back :  but  at  last  a  door  was  reached 
and  gently  opened.  She  saw  two  nurses,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  bed.  She  saw  an  open  window  and  the 
blessed  morning  light  stealing  upon  the  hills.  In  the 
room  itself  the  air  felt  heavy  and  drugged,  and  when 
she  looked  at  the  bed  she  saw  her  father  lying  there  still 
and  patient  as  she  had  never  seen  him  before.  He  opened 
his  eyes  when  she  came  in  and  fixed  them  on  her  face. 
But  she  spoke  to  his  wife. 

"I  want  to  be  left  alone  with  Peggy,"  he  said. 

The  two  nurses  moved  to  leave  the  room  at  once,  and 


80  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

after  a  moment's  hesitation  Mrs.  Twistleton  followed 
them :  but  her  manner  showed  that  she  did  so  grudgingly. 

"Don't  come  near  the  bed,"  said  the  dying  man  when 
the  door  had  shut.  "If  you  touch  it  you'll  hurt  me, 
Can  you  understand  what  I  say?  You  needn't  look  so 
scared.  I  can't  hurt  anyone." 

Peggy  stole  as  close  to  the  bed  as  she  could  without 
touching  it.  She  suddenly  felt  sorry  for  her  father: 
more  sorry  than  afraid. 

"I  wish  you  would  get  better,"  she  said. 

"So  do  I:  and  I  wish  you  were  a  little  older.  But  it 
can't  be  helped.  You  must  try  to  remember  what  I 
tell  you.  When  I  am  gone  your  step-mother  and  Mr. 
Gerard  will  be  your  guardians.  You  can  go  to  Mr. 
Gerard  if  you  want  help.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy,  not  understanding  much,  but  seiz- 
ing the  main  fact  that  Mr.  Gerard  would  stand  her 
friend. 

"Some  day  you  will  go  back  to  your  mother,"  Mr. 
Twistleton  went  on.  His  voice  was  weak  but  clear,  and 
Peggy  did  not  know  what  a  supreme  effort  he  was  mak- 
ing for  her  sake.  He  had  nearly  reached  the  limit  of  it. 

"I  should  like  to  go  now,"  the  child  said. 

"The  sooner  the  better." 

The  words  came  through  his  teeth  on  his  failing 
breath  so  that  Peggy  hardly  caught  them.  She  crept  a 
little  closer  still,  but  did  not  speak.  His  eyes  had  closed 
again  and  she  could  hardly  hear  him  breathe.  When  her 
step-mother  and  the  nurses  came  back  a  moment  later 
they  found  her  standing  there  wide-eyed  and  chill,  but 
seemingly  not  afraid.  One  of  the  nurses  took  her  back 
to  her  own  room  and  put  her  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   X 

IT  was  broad  daylight  when  Peggy  waked  again  and 
time  to  get  up:  some  hours  of  sound  sleep  inter- 
posed   themselves    between   her   and   the    dolorous 
memories  of  the  night,  but  there  remained  enough  to 
make  a  cleft  between  the  past,  when  she  had  never  looked 
on  death,  and  the  future,  sure  at  times  to  show  it  her 
as  in  a  mirror. 

"Your  father  died  in  the  night,"  said  Miss  Busby, 
when  she  came  to  call  her  to  the  bathroom. 

"I  saw  him,"  said  Peggy,  and  as  Miss  Busby  looked 
incredulous,  she  added,  "Mother  fetched  me  in  the  middle 
of  the  night." 

"We  shall  both  have  to  wear  mourning,"  said  Mabel, 
who  had  come  in  too  and  was  listening.  "Father  was 
very  fond  of  me." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy. 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  unkind " 

"Especially  at  such  a  time  as  this,"  put  in  Miss  Busby 
hurriedly. 

"Especially  at  such  a  time  as  this,"  echoed  Mabel, 
"but  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think  he  cared  about  you 
much." 

"He  did,"  said  Peggy.  "Twice  I  knew  that  he  did. 
Once,  a  long  time  ago,  when  he  found  Dingo  and  me  on 
the  fell  and  talked  to  me:  and  then  again  last  night." 

"Well,  twice  isn't  much,"  said  Mabel;  "I  was  his 
favorite." 

Peggy  could  not  deny  it,  but  she  would  have  said  or 
done  something  to  annoy  Mabel  if  Miss  Busby  had  not 
hauled  her  off  to  the  bathroom. 

81 


82  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

"To  squabble  at  such  a  time  as  this !" 

Miss  Busby  was  surprised  and  .horrified  at  the  de- 
pravity of  human  nature.  She  spoke  in  a  whisper  and 
moved  on  tip-toe  even  in  the  schoolroom  wing.  Why? 
It  was  irritating,  Peggy  found,  and  made  her  want  to 
run  out  of  doors  and  shout.  The  sun  was  shining,  the 
sky  was  blue,  the  world  went  round.  She  did  not  under- 
stand. 

"What  is  to  be  done  about  the  children's  mourning?" 
Miss  Busby  asked  discreetly  when  Mrs.  Twistleton  ap- 
peared in  the  schoolroom  in  the  middle  of  the  morning. 

"I  ordered  it  yesterday.    It  is  promised  for  Thursday." 

"We  can  easily  keep  out  of  sight  until  then." 

"Why  should  you?  I  suppose  you  will  want  your 
lunch  as  usual." 

"I  thought  if  many  people  were  coming  to  and 
fro.  .  .  ." 

"People  will  come  to  the  funeral.  Mr.  Gerard  arrives 
to-morrow.  I  expect  no  one  else." 

Peggy  had  pricked  up  her  ears  at  Victor's  name. 

"Will  he  walk  here?"  she  said. 

"Don't  be  silly!  He  is  coming  from  Manchester," 
said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 

"May  I  go  in  the  car  to  meet  him?"  she  said,  quaking 
inwardly  at  her  own  forwardness. 

Mrs.  Twistleton  looked  at  her.  "You !"  she  said. 
"Why  should  you  go  to  meet  Mr.  Gerard?  I'm  going 
in  to  Senwick  myself,  and  if  I  take  anyone  it  will  be 
Mabel." 

Of  course  it  was  Mabel.  It  was  always  Mabel, 
dressed  up  like  a  peacock  and  giving  herself  airs.  He 
would  talk  to  her  and  think  her  pretty  and  never  dis- 
cover that  she  was  as  stupid  as  a  doll:  one  of  those 
bleating  ones  that  cry  "Mamma!"  and  shut  their  idiotic 
eyes.  Was  he  going  to  be  Mabel's  guardian  too  now 
that  Father  was  dead  ? 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  83 

"What  is  a  guardian?"  said  Peggy  when  she  sat  at 
tea  that  afternoon  with  Miss  Busby. 

"Someone  who  takes  the  place  of  a  father,"  said  Miss 
Busby,  putting  it  shortly. 

"Mr.  Gerard  and  Mother  are  my  guardians,"  said 
Peggy.  "I  mean  this  Mother,  not  the  other  one." 

Miss  Busby  pursed  her  mouth  as  if  she  wished  it  to 
say  "prunes  and  prisms."  She  had  heard  just  enough 
about  Peggy's  "other  Mother"  to  consider  her  an  im- 
proper subject  for  conversation :  and  she  thought  it  un- 
fortunate that  the  child  should  know  of  her  exist- 
ence. 

"Will  Mr.  Gerard  come  here  to  live?"  continued  Peggy 
meditatively. 

"Why  should  he?" 

"How  can  he  take  Father's  place  if  he  doesn't?  Will 
he  marry  Mother  .  .  .  this  Mother?  I  hope  not." 

"You  are  the  most  heartless  child  I  ever  knew,"  cried 
Miss  Busby.  "There  is  your  poor  father  lying  dead  next 
door  and  you  talk  of  your  step-mother's  marriage.  And 
your  mourning  ordered  before  the  breath  was  out  of 
his  body  .  .  .  poor  good  man." 

"I'd  forgotten,"  said  Peggy  penitently ;  "I  was  think- 
ing of  Mr.  Gerard.  I  don't  want  him  to  be  Mabel's 
guardian." 

"Why  not?    What  is  Mr.  Gerard  to  you?" 

"I  like  him  better  than  anyone  in  the  world  except 
Dingo.  Perhaps  I  like  them  equally.  Xo ;  I  like  Dingo 
the  very  best  because  he  is  my  own." 

"I  adore  Mr.  Gerard,"  said  Mabel  affectedly  when  she 
came  upstairs  at  six  o'clock.  "I've  promised  to  show 
him  the  short  way  up  Banner  Fell  to-morrow." 

"I  don't  believe  you  know  it,"  said  Peggy. 

"I  do." 

"You  are  always  too  lazy  to  go." 

"With  you !     It's  not  amusing.     Besides,  Mr.  Gerard 


84  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

is  not  a  child  of  nine.  He'll  give  me  a  hand  in  the 
difficult  places." 

"There  are  no  difficult  places,  silly." 

"Oh,  you're  jealous !  I  thought  you  would  be,"  said 
Mabel,  and  with  her  head  in  the  air  marched  out  of  the 
room. 

"I  wish  you  and  Mabel  would  not  squabble  so  much," 
said  Miss  Busby,  putting  down  the  novel  in  which  she 
had  been  engrossed.  "At  such  a  time  as  this — 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence,  for  Peggy  gave  a  little 
squeal  of  joy  because  the  door  opened  and  Victor 
walked  in. 

"Really,  Peggy,  you  might  be  a  fox-terrier  yourself," 
he  said,  when  he  had  recovered  from  her  welcome.  ""Why 
did  you  kick  me?" 

"I  didn't,"  she  said,  standing  close  within  his  arm 
when  he  sat  down,  "but  I  couldn't  reach,  and  you  didn't 
stoop  quick  enough,  and  I  was  so  glad  to  see  you.  .  .  ." 

"So  you  tried  to  climb  up  me  .  .  .  just  like  Dingo. 
How  is  he?  No,  don't  fetch  him.  I  must  go  down- 
stairs directly.  I  shall  see  you  again  to-morrow." 

"I  wish  you  could  stay  now,"  said  Peggy. 

"Why  are  you  all  skin  and  bones?"  he  said,  looking 
at  her.  "Mabel  is  plump  enough.  Does  she  eat  all 
your  pudding?  Why  is  this  child  so  thin,  Miss 
Busby?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Busby,  looking 
rather  offended ;  "she  was  ordered  cod  liver  oil  but  she 
refuses  to  take  it:  and  unless  Mrs.  Twistleton  herself 
comes  up  and  stands  over  her  or  pours  it  down  her 
throat  .  .  .  she  did  for  a  week  or  two,  but  she  has  had 
other  things  to  think  of  lately.  .  .  ." 

"I  hate  it,"  said  Peggy,  with  a  wriggle  of  disgust.^ 

"So  do  I,"  said  Victor,  whispering  in  her  ear ;  then  he 
got  up  to  go,  without  having  said  a  word  about  her 
father's  death  or  made  any  reference  to  "such  a  time  as 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  85 

this."  At  least  he  had  said  nothing  that  Miss  Busby 
could  hear  or  repeat:  but  he  had  said  all  Peggy  had 
wanted  him  to  say,  to  her  only.  His  eyes  had  told  her 
that  he  was  sorry  for  her  because  she  was  fatherless,  and 
when  he  had  put  his  arm  round  her  he  had  given  her  a 
promise  of  affection  that  left  a  glow  in  her  little  heart. 
She  wished  she  could  be  with  him  always. 

When  Victor  went  downstairs  he  found  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton  waiting  for  him  in  her  own  room.  He  had  not  been 
there  before,  and  he  thought  as  he  went  in  that  she  was 
a  difficult  woman  to  understand.  He  did  not  like  her, 
but  he  admired  her  looks,  the  apparent  placidity  of  her 
temper  and  her  clever  hospitality.  She  seemed  to  know 
what  a  man  wanted,  she  dressed  seductively,  and  her 
room  was  comfort  itself.  Just  the  kind  of  chair  he 
liked  was  there  for  him,  and  as  she  was  smoking  herself, 
he  could  smoke  too.  A  wood  fire  had  been  lighted  and 
scented  the  air  pleasantly.  Through  the  window  he  could 
see  the  lake  and  the  last  rays  of  sunset  reddening  the 
sky  and  the  hills.  That  Mrs.  Twistleton  should  be  sit- 
ting there  in  what  looked  like  a  chemise  of  purple  and 
gold,  with  her  neck  and  arms  bare  and  a  double  row  of 
pearls  around  her  throat,  was  not  really  odd  when  he 
came  to  think  of  it.  Her  black  trappings  could  not  have 
arrived  yet :  hardly  have  been  ordered.  But  her  air  was 
expectant  and  alert.  She  did  not  sit  there  with  sorrow, 
though  she  was  decorously  quiet. 

"I  thought  that  after  dinner  you  would  be  busy  with 
my  husband's  papers  and  that  we  could  have  half  an 
hour  now,"  she  said. 

It  was  so  plain  that  she  wanted  to  talk  business  that 
Victor  made  no  attempt  to  beat  about  the  bush. 

"I  saw  Mr.  Barnes  yesterday,"  he  said.  "He  has 
given  me  a  copy  of  Mr.  Twistleton's  will  and  a  state- 
ment of  his  affairs.  He  wished  me  to  express  his  regret 
that  he  could  not  come  to  the  funeral  to-day.  He  has 


86  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

had  a  bad  bout  of  influenza.  He  thinks  he  could  get  over 
next  week  if  you  wish  to  see  him." 

"Of  course  I  must  see  him,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 
"What  are  the  terms  of  the  will?" 

Victor  saw  that  the  woman  was  in  a  state  of  intense 
excitement.  The  pupils  of  her  eyes  had  become  quite 
small,  her  hands  were  clenched,  and  though  she  con- 
trolled her  voice  as  well  as  she  could,  it  was  charged 
with  emotion. 

"Mr.  Twistleton  has  provided  generously  for  you  and 
Mabel,"  he  said,  thinking  her  anxiety  had  some  cause  and 
wishing  to  reassure  her.  But  the  effect  of  his  words  was 
unexpected. 

"He  once  said  that  he  would  leave  me  everything," 
she  cried. 

"He  has  left  you  five  thousand  a  year  for  life  and 
fifty  thousand  in  trust  for  Mabel.  That  will  be  settled 
on  her  when  she  marries." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  have  no  control  over  the 
capital?  That  I  have  nothing  but  an  income  of  five 
thousand  a  year?" 

"You  have  this  house  for  life." 

"Can't  I  sell  it?" 

"No.     At  your  death  it  goes  to  Peggy." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Twistleton  did  not  speak,  but  at 
Peggy's  name  her  heavy  eyelids  closed  a  little  over  her 
eyes  and  narrowed  them. 

"How  is  Peggy  provided  for?"  she  asked  presently. 

"She  has  the  residue." 

"What  will  that  be?" 

"I  can't  quite  tell  you.  The  death  duties  will  be  heavy 
and  there  is  a  great  deal  to  settle  and  arrange.  Mr. 
Barnes  estimates  Peggy's  share  at  a  quarter  of  a  million, 
but  he  isn't  certain  yet.  It  depends  partly  on  the  sale 
of  a  block  of  warehouses " 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  I  only  get  five  thousand  a 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  87 

year  and  that  Mabel  is  put  off  with  fifty  thousand  while 
a  quarter  of  a  million  goes  to  Peggy?" 

"She  is  Mr.  Twistleton's  child." 

"By  a  harlot." 

"Peggy  can't  help  that." 

They  had  both  spoken  with  some  haste  and  heat,  and 
a  moment  of  uncomfortable  silence  embarrassed  them 
before  either  spoke  again.  Mrs.  Twistleton's  placid  eyes 
were  fixed  again  in  watchfulness,  but  Victor  had  seen 
them  flash  with  anger  and  had  seen  her  mouth  cruel  with 
rage.  The  glimpse  of  smoldering  passion  beneath  that 
self-controlled  indolent  manner  had  startled  him  and 
sown  the  first  seeds  of  uneasiness  and  distrust. 

"What  would  become  of  the  money  if  Peggy  should 
die?"  she  asked  after  a  pause. 

"It  would  be  divided.  Mabel  and  Peggy's  cousins 
would  have  equal  shares." 

He  wished  he  need  not  have  given  her  this  informa- 
tion, but  it  was  useless  to  withhold  it.  She  would  find 
it  in  her  husband's  will. 

"Did  my  husband  tell  you  what  his  arrangements  were 
this  spring  when  he  asked  you  to  be  his  executor?" 

"Yes,  he  did,"  said  Victor. 

"Didn't  you  remonstrate  with  him?" 

"It  was  not  my  business  to.  He  had  discussed 
everything  with  Mr.  Barnes  and  probably  taken  his 
advice." 

"I've  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton  bitterly. 
"Odious  old  man!  I  should  have  had  a  better  marriage 
settlement  if  it  had  not  been  for  him.  However,  it 
can't  be  helped.  Of  course  I  shall  have  to  live  in  a 
smaller  way.  Five  thousand  a  year  doesn't  go  far  now- 
adays: and  I  have  Mabel  to  educate.  By  the  way,  will 
the  interest  of  her  fifty  thousand  come  to  me  till  she 
marries  or  is  of  age?" 

Victor  hesitated.     "I  forgot  to  ask  Mr.  Barnes  that," 


88  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

he  said.  "I  don't  know.  I  should  think  some  arrange- 
ment might  be  made." 

"Certainly  some  arrangement  must  be  made  for  both 
children.  I  must  see  Mr.  Barnes  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  wonder  why  my  husband  asked  you  to  be  Peggy's 
guardian  and  what  your  function  will  be?" 

"He  asked  me  because  I  was  the  son  of  his  old  friend." 

"You  can't  know  much  about  children,"  she  said. 

"I  know  nothing  about  them." 

"I  suppose  you  will  invest  and  administer  her  money 
and  I  shall  have  charge  of  her?" 

"I  had  not  contemplated  removing  her  ...  at 
present." 

"I  suppose  we  have  equal  authority?" 

"Not  quite.    If  we  disagree  I  may  act  as  I  think  best." 

Mrs.  Twistleton  looked  at  the  young  man  again.  His 
voice  was  urbane:  almost  deprecatory:  and  his  eyes  had 
a  humorous  light  in  them.  But  she  judged  that  his  voice 
and  his  eyes  and  every  line  of  his  pleasant  face  might 
harden  in  conflict  and  that  he  would  not  be  an  easy  man 
to  oppose. 

"I  am  sure  we  shall  agree,"  she  said.  "You  admit 
that  you  know  nothing  of  children,  and  I  know  nothing 
of  money  matters.  Our  departments  are  watertight  and 
we  will  not  interfere  with  each  other." 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE  funeral  was  over,  the  guests  had  departed,  and 
Victor,  who  was  staying  till  next  day,  went  out 
into  the  garden  for  a  smoke  and  a  stroll.  It  was 
a  late  October  afternoon,  and  all  the  sunshine  of  sum- 
mer seemed,  still  to  gild  the  trees.  Their  leaves  fell  in 
gentle  showers  as  he  passed  beneath  them,  and  they 
covered  the  paths  wherever  they  were  not  swept  away. 
He  soon  got  beyond  the  garden  to  some  wilder  land  that 
belonged  to  Beda  Close  but  was  not  enclosed,  and  from 
that  to  the  old  grass  walk  at  the  foot  of  the  fells  where 
the  bracken  was  golden  and  the  rabbits  scampered  from 
rock  to  rock  as  he  approached  their  lairs. 

He  had  had  a  busy  time  of  it  since  his  arrival,  and 
he  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mrs.  Twistleton  and  next  to 
nothing  of  Peggy.  Even  when  Mabel  showed  him  the 
way  up  Banner  Fell  the  younger  child  had  not  accom- 
panied them,  and  when  he  asked  why,  he  had  been  told 
that  she  had  been  kept  in  as  a  punishment. 

"What  had  she  done  ?"  said  Victor. 

"She  put  out  her  tongue  at  me,"  said  Mabel.  "We 
all  try  to  teach  Peggy  manners,  but  we  don't  succeed. 
Mother  says  it  is  not  surprising  and  that  there  is  no 
knowing  how  she  will  turn  out  ...  if  she  ever 
grows  up." 

"Why  shouldn't  she  grow  up?" 

"Mother  says  she  has  no  constitution.  She  is  always 
getting  colds.  I  don't.  I  went  through  the  whole  of 
last  winter  without  one.  Besides,  I  am  not  excitable, 
like  Peggy.  Mother  says  I  have  an  even  temperament. 

89 


90  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

Peggy  is  always  in  extremes.  If  you  had  seen  her  just 
now  you  would  have  thought  her  heart  was  broken." 

"What  about?" 

"This  walk.  She  wanted  to  come.  She  has  one  of 
her  violent  manias  for  you.  Mother  says  that  kind  of 
thing  must  be  stopped  at  once.  It  is  so  unbalanced. 
Besides,  it  is  troublesome.  Mother  told  her  that  you 
could  not  possibly  want  a  child  of  nine  running  after 
you,  and  that  if  you  did  want  her  you  would  send  for 
her." 

Victor  was  thinking  of  this  idle  chatter  as  he  sauntered 
along  the  grass  path  at  the  foot  of  the  fells.  He  did  not 
take  to  Mabel.  She  was  too  smug  and  well  pleased  with 
herself  to  please  him.  Not  a  hair  of  her  head  or  a  fold 
in  her  frock  had  been  disarranged  as  she  walked  up 
Banner  Fell ;  but  she  had  not  walked  far.  She  had  soon 
said  she  was  rather  tired  to-day  and  would  sit  down 
while  he  went  on  to  the  top.  So  he  sat  down  with  her 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  took  her  back  to  the  house. 
She  bored  him  and  confirmed  him  in  his  ideas  about  dis- 
liking children ;  especially  girls.  Vain,  empty-headed 
creatures  they  were:  and  grew  into  women  without 
undergoing  a  great  change  presumably.  At  least  he 
thought  Mabel  would.  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  no  fool.  He 
had  found  her  clear-headed  where  business  was  con- 
cerned and  as  hard  as  nails.  She  was  not  satisfied  with 
the  terms  of  her  husband's  will  and  she  fought  every 
debatable  point  with  a  keen  eye  to  her  own  advantage. 
As  Beda  Close  was  hers  for  life  she  would  let  it  furnished, 
she  said,  and  add  the  large  rent  it  would  bring  to  her 
income. 

"But  what  will  you  do?"  Victor  had  asked. 

"I  think  of  going  abroad  next  year  for  a  time  and 
then  I  shall  take  a  flat  in  London.  You  can't  educate 
girls  in  the  country." 

"But  while  you  travel?" 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  91 

"The  children  will  travel  too.  They  will  learn  French 
and  Italian.  It  will  be  good  for  them.  Of  course  you 
must  allow  me  enough  for  Peggy's  expenses." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  like  the  idea  for  Peggy,"  Victor 
had  said,  and  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  not  answered.  It  was 
not  necessary.  She  had  told  him  what  she  wished  to  do 
and  she  meant  to  do  it.  He  could  not  stop  her.  Her 
silence  and  the  tightened  lines  of  her  mouth  told  him 
this  while  her  odd  eyes  remained  as  expressionless  as 
usual.  She  went  on  to  talk  of  other  things. 

It  is  easy  enough  to  look  after  yourself,  thought  Victor 
as  he  sauntered  on.  It  is  when  you  undertake  to  look 
after  other  people  that  your  troubles  begin.  So  far  he 
had  not  found  in  it  in  his  heart  to  want  a  wife  and 
children  of  his  own.  He  had  not  reached  his  present 
age  without  being  attracted  by  women,  but  he  had  never 
asked  one  to  marry  him.  Marriage  meant  bondage  for 
both  contracting  parties,  while  as  for  children.  .  .  !  The 
wonder  was  that  the  human  race  went  on,  considering 
the  trouble  the  creatures  were  to  rear.  He  would  put 
every  one  of  them  into  huge  state  nurseries  and  schools 
where  they  would  annoy  no  one  but  paid  officials  and  all 
have  an  equal  chance.  Such  a  scheme  would  please  the 
poor  and  relieve  the  rich.  Why  did  no  one  work  it  out? 
He  supposed  the  women  would  object,  and  in  these  days 
women  had  a  voice  in  everything.  There  were  too  many 
of  them  in  this  country.  He  would  go  back  to  some 
wilder  land  where  a  man  could  live  amongst  men.  But 
if  he  did  he  would  have  to  resign  this  trust  that  he  had 
accepted  so  rashly.  He  could  not  live  in  East  Africa, 
for  instance,  and  look  after  Peggy,  on  Hallinwater.  He 
would  have  to  go  to  Australia  again  before  long,  and  then 
he  had  a  mind  to  look  at  East  Africa  and  the  big  game 
there.  He  must  consult  Mr.  Barnes  about  his  duties 
with  regard  to  Peggy,  for  he  was  not  really  clear  about 
them.  But  of  course  he  must  either  perform  them 


92  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

scrupulously  or  transfer  them  to  other  hands.  What 
could  the  child's  mother  have  been  made  of  to  desert 
her?  Women  were  often  hard,  heartless  creatures: 
more  so  than  men.  They  were  constantly  exploding  the 
fiction  of  their  softness  and  their  helplessness  by  conduct 
that  men  would  repudiate.  He  might  any  moment  find 
Mrs.  Twistleton  a  hard  nut  to  crack.  She  was  evidently 
furious  about  the  terms  of  the  will :  and  what  was  this 
chatter  of  Mabel's  about  Peggy's  constitution  ?  Certainly 
the  child  looked  thin  and  scared.  He  must  see  her  again 
before  he  went  back  to  Manchester  since  he  was  to  be 
saddled  with  her  affairs.  She  came  down  to  lunch  every 
day,  dressed  like  a  little  crow,  and  sat  at  table  without 
opening  her  mouth:  but  he  had  seen  other  children  as 
silent  in  other  houses.  That  was  a  canon  of  behavior 
he  had  no  quarrel  with.  But  there  was  a  look  in  this 
child's  eyes  that  should  not  have  been  there.  He  did 
not  know  what  he  could  do  to  help  her,  and  probably 
there  was  nothing  much  wrong.  In  talking  to  him  Mrs. 
Twistleton  had  taken  for  granted  that  she  would  live 
with  her  step-mother  till  she  was  sixteen,  when  she 
would  be  free  to  go  to  her  own  mother  if  she  chose, 
and  if  Victor  approved.  He  wondered  again  what  sort 
of  woman  the  mother  was :  and  taking  a  sudden  decision 
he  turned,  walked  swiftly  back  to  the  house,  and  made 
his  way  to  the  schoolroom,  where  he  found  Peggy,  very 
red  about  the  eyes,  with  a  tattered  book  in  her  hands  and 
Dingo  close  to  her  on  the  window-seat. 

"Why  are  you  not  out  this  fine  afternoon?"  he  said. 

"I'm  kept  in,"  said  Peggy. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  out  with  me  ...  on  the 
lake?" 

"Not  really?" 

"Go  and  put  on  your  hat  and  mind  you  look  in  the 
glass." 

"Why?" 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  93 

"Good  children  never  ask  why.  They  do  as  they  are 
told." 

"I'm  not  good.    I  never  shall  be." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"Everyone.     I  don't  care." 

Peggy  sighed  and  looked  at  the  verses  she  had  been 
told  to  learn  and  did  not  know  yet.  She  had  had  plenty 
of  time  to  learn  them,  but  she  had  played  with  Dingo 
instead,  because  she  thought  she  had  the  afternoon  be- 
fore her.  That  was  the  way  things  happened. 

"I  don't  know  my  verses.  I  shall  be  punished,"  she 
said. 

"Who  will  punish  you?     Miss  Busby?" 

Peggy  shook  her  head.  "Mother,"  she  said  under  her 
breath. 

"I'll  see  that  you  are  not  punished  to-day,"  said  Victor. 
"Be  quick  and  get  ready." 

He  could  tell  that  Peggy  only  half  believed  him,  but 
she  trotted  off,  followed  by  Dingo:  and  when  she  came 
back  she  had  washed  the  tear-stains  from  her  face,  as 
he  meant  her  to  when  he  told  her  to  look  in  the  glass. 
While  she  was  away  he  thought  about  what  she  had  said 
and  wished  he  knew  what  to  do.  There  did  not  seem 
anything  to  be  done  in  a  hurry:  and  he  was  probably  a 
fool  to  feel  at  all  uneasy  about  the  child.  She  must 
lead  the  same  life  as  Mabel,  that  petted  doll.  She  oc- 
cupied the  same  rooms,  was  taught  by  the  same  governess, 
ate  at  the  same  table.  Her  clothes  were  good,  she  was 
allowed  to  keep  Dingo.  Why  did  she  seem  all  nerves 
and  jumps?  Why  was  she  such  a  little  bag  of  bones? 
He  had  an  idea. 

"Whom  do  you  like  best  in  the  world?"  he  said. 

"Dingo  and  you." 

"But  after  us?" 

"Mrs.  Butterfield." 

"Who  is  she?" 


94  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Our  cook.  She  lives  downstairs  mostly,  but  I  go  and 
see  her  when  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  are  out.  Sometimes 
I  sit  on  her  knee  in  a  rocking-chair  and  we  both  go  to 
sleep.  On  my  birthday  she  gave  me  things  to  eat  be- 
cause I  was  hungry,  although  it  was  as  much  as  her  place 
was  worth.  Don't  you  remember?  I  told  you  about 
it  when  you  came  to  see  me  on  my  birthday  and  you 
promised  not  to  tell :  and  she  knew  my  real  mother :  and 
on  the  mantelpiece  she  has  a  bottle  with  a  ship  in  it. 
Her  nephew  Jo  is  a  sailor  and  made  the  ship  and  got  it 
into  the  bottle.  She  would  show  it  you  if  we  went  down- 
stairs, I  expect.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  ship  in  a 
bottle?" 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  have,"  said  Victor.  "Take  me 
to  see  this  one." 

Luckily  Mrs.  Butterfield  was  in  the  hall  writing  a  letter 
when  Victor  and  Peggy  went  in :  an  elderly  woman, 
Victor  found,  unlettered  but  shrewd  and  kindly.  She 
allowed  Peggy  to  exhibit  the  ship  in  the  bottle,  and  then 
let  her  run  upstairs  for  a  box  made  of  shells  that  was 
a  yet  greater  treasure. 

"You  are  staying  on,  I  hope?"  said  Victor. 

"As  far  as  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield.  "But  of 
course  there  may  be  changes." 

Victor  looked  round  the  room.  It  was  the  servants' 
hall  and  he  sat  here  talking  to  the  cook;  if  he  could 
bring  it  about  he  wanted  to  take  her  into  his  confidence. 
An  unimaginable  situation  arising  out  of  his  new  relation 
to  a  child,  and  confirming  him  in  his  conviction  that 
children  gave  more  trouble  than  they  were  worth. 

"I  am  Miss  Peggy's  guardian,"  he  said. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield.  "She 
wants  one." 

"Well  ...  she  had  her  father  till  he  died." 

Mrs.  Butterfield  made  a  slight  noise  in  her  throat  that 
might  have  meant  anything. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  95 

"You're  not  going  to  live  here,  sir,  are  you?"  she 
inquired. 

"No.  I  live  in  Manchester  at  present.  I  have  to  go 
back  to-morrow." 

"Then,  if  I  may  ask,  what  good  are  you  going  to  be 
to  Miss  Peggy?" 

"I  shall  look  after  her  money  affairs." 

The  noise  Mrs.  Butterfield  made  in  her  throat  when 
she  heard  this  was  more  definite.  It  might  have  been 
called  a  snort. 

"What's  a  mite  like  that  got  to  do  with  money  affairs? 
Sixpence  a  week  and  as  much  food  as'd  feed  a 
sparrer.  .  .  ." 

"But  she  will  grow  up." 

"She  may,  or  she  may  not.    There's  no  knowing." 

Victor  did  not  know  what  to  say  next.  The  cook  had 
not  given  him  any  facts  to  go  on,  but  she  had  made  him 
more  uneasy  than  he  had  been  before. 

"The  child  is  very  fond  of  you —      "  he  began. 

"Poor  little  soul !"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield. 

"Why  do  you  pity  her?" 

"Who's  she  got  in  the  world?  Me  and  a  fox-terrier! 
It  isn't  much,  is  it?  Why  can't  she  be  sent  straight  to 
her  mother?" 

"Her  mother  deserted  her." 

"Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  she  did  nothing  of  the  sort. 
When  the  master  locked  the  door  against  her  she  come 
round  to  the  back  and  stood  there  in  the  snow  crying  for 
the  child.  I  ought  to  know.  I  spoke  to  her  last  of 
anyone.  But  the  child  had  been  sent  away." 

Victor  listened  in  silence  and  without  asking  the  ques- 
tions he  wanted  to  ask.  He  had  never  seen  the  first  Mrs. 
Twistleton  or  heard  much  about  her:  but  his  present 
ideas  about  women  and  children  inclined  him  to  judge 
hardly  of  a  faithless  wife. 

"Mr.  Twistleton  took   for  granted  that  Miss   Peggy 


96  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

would  live  on  here,"  he  said,  after  a  little  consideration. 
"Mrs.  Twistleton  and  I  are  acting  together  as  her 
guardians." 

The  cook  preserved  a  stony  silence,  and  stared  out  of 
the  window :  and  before  either  of  them  spoke  again  Peggy 
rushed  into  the  room  with  the  shell  box.  Victor,  feeling 
that  he  had  not  made  a  success  of  his  incursion  below 
stairs,  admired  it,  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Butterfield, 
and  then  took  Peggy  on  the  lake  for  half  ah  hour.  He 
let  her  have  one  oar  and  gave  her  a  lesson  in  rowing, 
the  first  she  had  ever  had,  for  she  had  taught  herself 
to  paddle  about  Low  Tarn. 

"You  don't  come  out  on  the  lake  by  yourself,  I  hope?" 
he  said,  as  they  turned  homewards. 

"I  never  have,  but  I  will  now,"  said  Peggy. 

"You  will  not." 

"Why  not?" 

"There  you  are  .  .  .  asking  why  again.  Children 
should  never  argue." 

"But  then  they  would  never  understand  anything.  You 
don't  know  much  about  children  ...  do  you?" 

"I  know  enough  to  forbid  you  to  go  on  the  lake  by 
yourself.  Do  you  understand  that?" 

"Are  you  angry  ?"  said  Peggy  with  a  sigh. 

"No:  why  should  I  be?" 

"You  shouted  at  me." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  know  I  did.  Don't  you 
like  being  shouted  at?" 

"I  don't  mind.    If  I  came  to  live  with  you " 

"Which  you  are  not  going  to  do." 

"But  I  may  think  about  it  and  tell  myself  stories  about 
it  as  if  I  was  going  to.  If  only  you  would  wait  about 
eight  or  nine  years.  .  .  ." 

"What  for?" 

"For  me.    I  should  be  old  enough  then  to  be  married, 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  97 

and  I  could  marry  you.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  you  would 
like  it?" 

"Speaking  as  one  friend  to  another,  Peggy,  I  don't 
think  I  should.  I'm  not  a  marrying  man." 

"What  a  pity !"  said  Peggy. 


CHAPTER   XII 

TTYEGGY  was  not  asked  to  say  her  verses  that  night 
and  not  punished.  That  was  through  Mr.  Gerard. 
Even  Mother  had  to  do  as  he  told  her.  How  Peggy 
wished  he  would  stay!  But  next  morning  he  went  back 
to  Manchester  by  an  early  train  and  it  rained  all  day. 
Dingo  escaped  into  the  garden,  scampered  across  the 
flower-beds,  came  back  all  wet  and  muddy  and  jumped 
on  her  lap  before  she  could  stop  him.  Just  before  the 
gong  went  for  lunch,  too,  when  she  had  on  a  clean 
pinafore  and  was  ready  to  go  down.  Miss  Busby  said 
that  never  in  her  life  had  she  come  across  such  a  tire- 
some child  or  such  an  odious  dog,  and  she  wished  the 
dog  was  drowned.  She  tried  to  clean  up  the  child  with 
a  towel,  but  she  only  made  her  more  smeary,  and  then 
she  got  flustered  and  said  they  would  be  late  and  must 
go  down  at  once. 

They  were  late.  Jordan  had  a  sad  face  and  Mother 
looked  like  thunder:  thunder  that  discharged  itself  on 
Peggy's  head  when  she  appeared  with  a  muddy  pinafore. 
Before  she  knew  what  was  going  to  happen  she  found 
herself  pushed  through  the  doorway  and  told  to  make 
herself  tidy  or  keep  out  of  sight.  She  was  dreadfully 
hungry  and  the  smell  of  cooking  made  her  hungrier,  but 
she  had  to  go  although  she  did  not  know  where  to  find 
a  pinafore.  Miss  Busby  had  charge  of  the  schoolroom 
clothes  and  she  was  not  methodical  in  her  ways.  So 
Peggy  had  to  hunt  here  and  there  for  what  she  wanted 
and  then  do  the  buttons  at  the  back  without  help.  It 
took  a  long  time,  and  all  the  while  she  was  thinking  how 

98 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  99 

hungry  she  was  and  how  she  hoped  the  others  would 
eat  slowly.  But  they  must  have  gobbled,  for  when  she 
slid  into  her  place  at  table  Jordan  was  handing  round 
apple  snow.  Peggy  liked  apple  snow  at  the  end  of  lunch, 
but  not  at  the  beginning:  so  when  it  was  handed  to  her 
she  looked  at  Mother. 

"Don't  you  want  any?"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 

"I've  had  no  meat,"  said  Peggy. 

"You  should  have  been  here  in  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Twistleton. 

So  Peggy  got  nothing  for  lunch  but  apple  snow :  not 
even  bread  or  toast:  and  she  went  upstairs  unsatisfied. 
She  would  have  gone  down  to  Mrs.  Butterfield  if  she 
could  have  escaped;  but  as  they  left  the  dining-room 
Mrs.  Twistleton  told  Miss  Busby  that  she  was  to  take 
the  children  a  brisk  walk  and  start  at  once,  while  there 
was  a  lull  in  the  weather.  Miss  Busby  hated  walks 
directly  after  lunch,  but  she  had  to  go.  So  she  was 
rather  cross,  and  when  Peggy  showed  her  that  her  torn 
mackintosh  had  not  been  mended  she  became  crosser  still 
and  told  her  to  leave  it  at  home. 

"Peggy's  clothes  are  always  in  the  wars,"  fluted  Mabel, 
who  looked  trim  and  snug  in  her  new  Burberry. 

"Mine  was  old  when  I  had  it,"  argued  Peggy.  "You 
had  made  a  little  tear.  If  that  had  been  mended.  .  .  ." 

Miss  Busby,  looking  more  affronted  than  before,  said 
she  would  have  no  squabbling  and  that  she  supposed 
they  had  better  start  and  get  it  over.  So  they  set  out, 
keeping  to  the  high  road  beside  the  lake,  a  walk  Peggy 
always  avoided  if  she  could.  Why  anyone  should  take 
the  road  when  they  could  keep  to  the  fell  side  she  could 
not  understand ;  but  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  both  pre- 
ferred it.  Peggy  did  not  feel  at  all  brisk  because  she 
was  so  hungry,  and  when  the  others  turned  to  go  home 
she  began  to  lag  behind.  By  that  time  she  was  too  tired 
and  exhausted  to  keep  up  with  them.  Dingo  enjoyed 


ioo  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

his  walk  thoroughly,  and  kept  running  back  to  tell  her  so, 
with  his  tail  in  the  air  and  his  head  on  one  side.  But 
his  legs  and  his  underneath  were  coated  with  mud  as 
they  would  not  have  been  if  they  had  kept  on  the  clean 
short  grass  of  the  fells.  The  bracken  might  have  made 
him  wet,  but  bracken  was  not  muddy  like  this  horrid 
road.  Peggy  thought  it  must  be  the  road  that  made  her 
head  ache  and  her  limbs  fejel  lazy  and  heavy.  She  tried 
to  keep  up  with  the  others,  and  for  some  time  did  keep 
them  in  sight :  but  they  did  not  look  back  or  try  to  hurry 
her  on.  She  was  glad  of  that  because  she  did  not  think 
she  could  have  walked  any  quicker.  She  knew  her  way. 
Perhaps  they  hurried  when  it  began  to  rain  harder.  Such 
rain  it  was !  Sheets  of  it  coming  down  straight  from 
a  black  sky  and  drenching  you  to  the  skin  in  no  time. 
There  wasn't  a  soul  to  be  seen  either  on  the  road  or 
on  the  lake.  Peggy  and  Dingo  were  alone  with  it,  and 
it  seemed  stronger  than  her,  like  the  sea.  It  took  her 
breath  away.  She  could  hear  nothing  else,  and  the  hills 
were  blurred  by  it  and  the  lake  was  one  with  it.  Dingo 
looked  as  if  he  had  no  coat  for  he  was  soaked  through 
and  through.  He  shivered  with  cold  and  plodded  on  as 
much  as  to  say,  "Water  is  my  element  and  can't  frighten 
me."  But  he  hated  it  really.  So  he  and  Peggy  huddled 
under  a  tree  together  and  hoped  it  would  not  thunder 
and  lighten.  But  presently  it  did,  and  Dingo  hated  that 
worse  than  the  rain.  He  trembled  with  excitement  and 
gave  little  whines  of  misery:  which  showed  Peggy  that 
he  felt  just  as  she  did:  except  perhaps  that  he  was  not 
quite  as  cold.  Peggy  was  chattering  with  cold  by  this 
time,  but  she  stayed  under  the  tree  until  she  thought 
there  would  be  no  more  thunder  and  lightning.  Then 
she  set  out  for  home,  her  boots  squishy  with  water,  her 
hat  sending  trickles  down  her  face  and  neck.  She  knew 
that  her  new  black  coat  would  probably  never  look  new 
again,  but  she  could  not  think  n.uch  about  that  yet,  or 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  101 

even  about  her  probable  reception  when  she  arrived 
streaming,  like  Undine  rising  from  the  river.  All  she 
could  think  of  was  the  warmth  and  shelter  indoors  for 
which  every  bit  of  her  body  craved,  of  dry  clothes 
and  hot  tea  and  bread  and  butter.  Not  that  she  was 
as  hungry  now  as  she  had  been  when  she  came  out.  She 
would  try  to  get  round  by  the  back  and  find  Mrs.  Butter- 
field,  who  might  say  she  did  not  want  muddy  dogs  and 
children  messing  up  her  floors  but  was  sure  to  help  her 
somehow.  She  wished  someone  would  drive  by  and  give 
her  a  lift,  for  there  was  a  long  way  to  go  and  the  desolate 
road  stretched  ahead  of  her  unfriendly  and  inanimate. 
She  knew  it  inch  by  inch,  but  she  could  not  know  who 
might  be  lurking  on  it  to-day.  She  listened  eagerly  for 
sounds. 

Before  she  had  gone  far  she  heard  a  car  coming  in  her 
direction,  and  knew  by  its  hoot  and  its  whir  that  it 
was  probably  their  own.  She  called  Dingo  to  her  and 
waited  well  out  in  the  road  so  that  Dixon,  the  chauffeur, 
should  see  her,  because  she  knew  that  if  it  was  empty  he 
would  stop  for  her.  When  he  got  close  enough  she 
waved  to  him,  and  to  her  relief  and  joy  he  slowed  down 
and  then  came  to  a  standstill.  But  her  relief  and  joy 
were  short-lived.  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  in  the  car  and, 
pulling  down  the  window,  looked  at  the  miserable  little 
object  in  the  road. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"  she  said. 

"I'm  going  home,"  said  Peggy. 

"Speak  louder.  How  can  I  hear  you  when  you  mumble 
like  that!" 

Peggy  sidled  closer  to  the  car,  looked  at  it  longingly, 
and  again  informed  her  step-mother  that  she  was  going 
home. 

"How  is  it  that  you  are  out  here  by  yourself?" 

"The  others  went  quicker." 

To   Peggy's   bitter   disappointment,  the  window   was 


102  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

pulled  up  again,  Dixon  was  told  through  the  speaking- 
tube  to  go  on  at  once,  and  the  car  began  to  move.  For  a 
moment  Peggy  wondered  if  she  dared  climb  on  to  the 
step  and  over  the  door  in  front,  and  she  might  have  done 
it  if  it  had  not  been  for  Dingo  and  if  anyone  but  her  step- 
mother had  been  inside.  But  Dingo  would  try  to  follow 
her  and  anything  might  happen  to  him:  and  her  step- 
mother would  probably  order  her  off  again.  The  car 
had  lately  been  done  up,  the  cushions  were  new,  and 
Peggy  recognized  that  in  her  present  dripping  state  she 
was  not  good  for  cushions.  The  dye  might  come  out  of 
her  coat  on  them.  Still,  she  did  wish  she  could  have  got 
up  in  front  beside  Dixon.  She  would  have  sat  on  a  rug; 
that  would  not  have  mattered  as  much  as  cushions.  How- 
ever, it  wras  no  use  wishing.  The  car  was  out  of  sight 
already  and  the  road  longer  and  drearier  than  it  had 
been  before.  By  the  time  she  had  dragged  along  the 
breadth  of  a  field  on  her  left  she  knew  that  her  step- 
mother must  be  safe  at  home  and  Dixon  probably  having 
his  tea  in  his  cottage.  He  would  not  know  how  very 
tired  and  wet  and  cold  she  was,  although  he  had  a  little 
girl  of  her  age  and  made  a  great  pet  of  her.  She  was 
spoiled,  Miss  Busby  said.  Peggy's  ideas  began  to  wander 
and  break  off  queerly.  From  Ada  Dixon  who  was  spoiled 
they  jumped  to  Mr.  Gerard.  If  she  shut  her  eyes  a 
little  she  could  see  him  and  hear  his  voice  and  pretend 
he  was  saying  things  to  her.  He  told  her  to  go  on 
and  not  to  be  silly.  If  he  was  there  he  would  pull 
her  arm  through  his  and  make  her  walk  straight  and 
quick.  She  was  beginning  to  stumble  now  and  the  rain 
was  getting  heavier  again.  Dingo  kept  beside  her,  but 
he  did  not  know  there  was  anything  wrong.  Peggy  knew 
the  poem  about  the  man  who  died  in  the  arms  of  Hel- 
vellyn  and  Catchedicam,  and  whose  dog  stayed  beside 
him  and  died  too. 

"Would  you   do  that,  Dingo?"  she  said,   and  Dingo 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  103 

wagged  his  tail  at  the  sound  of  her  voice  and  looked 
back  at  her  as  much  as  to  say,  "Come  on." 

But  she  was  beginning  to  think  that  she  could  not  go 
much  farther:  at  any  rate,  not  without  another  rest; 
and  when  she  came  to  a  flat  stone  she  sat  down  on  it. 
She  had  been  wet  to  the  skin  long  since,  for  her  coat  was 
not  a  thick  one,  so  the  rain  did  not  make  much  difference. 
If  it  did  she  could  not  help  it.  By  this  time  she  was 
dazed.  She  could  not  even  feel  afraid  of  the  men  with 
sticks  and  stones  who  might  be  about  on  such  a  clay  as 
this.  Her  thoughts  became  numb,  like  her  body,  and  so 
she  sat  on,  miserably  cold,  but  apathetic  and  more  in- 
capable every  moment  of  further  effort.  . 

Dixon  was  having  his  tea  in  his  cottage  with  his  wife 
and  Ada,  who  was  spoiled.  He  told  them  about  his 
encounter  with  Peggy,  and  his  wife  said  that  it  was  a  sin 
and  a  shame.  The  child  might  catch  her  death  of  cold 
while  he  sat  there  eating  his  tea  and  talking  of  cushions. 
If  the  truth  was  known  they  probably  belonged  to  her. 
She  was  her  father's  child,  wasn't  she  ?  and  all  the  money 
had  been  Mr.  Twistleton's  and  not  Jezebel's. 

"S-sh!"  said  Dixon,  looking  at  Ada.  "Little  pitchers 
have  long  ears.  And  why  Jezebel  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Dixon.  "I  always  think 
of  her  when  I  hear  that  chapter  read.  I  see  her  sitting 
at  the  window  quiet  and  wicked.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  about  that  child?" 

"It's  none  of  my  business.  She's  home  long  since, 
I  expect." 

"You  can  ask  at  the  house,  and  if  she  isn't  run  the 
car  back  before  you  clean  it.  It  wouldn't  take  you  five 
minutes." 

"It  might  cost  me  my  place  if  I  did  it  without  orders, 
and  I've  my  own  child  to  think  of  ...  and  you." 

Mrs.  Dixon  said  no  more.  It  was  not  necessary,  be- 
cause she  knew  her  man.  When  he  had  finished  his 


104  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

tea  he  went  to  the  mansion  and  asked  if  Miss  Peggy 
had  come  in :  and  while  he  waited  for  an  answer  from 
the  schoolroom  he  talked  to  Mrs.  Butterfield,  who  used 
the  very  words  his  wife  had  used  and  said  it  was  a  sin 
and  a  shame. 

"What's  that  Miss  Busby  about?"  asked  Dixon. 

"She's  nothing  but  a  tool,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield,  and 
as  she  spoke  Rose,  the  second  housemaid,  came  in  and 
said  that  Miss  Peggy  was  not  back  yet  and  that  Miss 
Busby  wished  to  have  tea  taken  upstairs  at  once. 

"Isn't  she  put  out?"  asked  Dixon. 

"She  will  be  if  her  tea  is  late,"  said  Rose  pertly,  and 
went  off  to  get  it. 

"I'll  walk  along  the  road  to  meet  her,"  said  Dixon. 

"What  good'll  that  do?"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield. 

"Give  her  a  heart  like.  She's  young  to  be  trapesing 
the  roads  in  this  weather." 

"Be  a  man  and  take  the  car.  Can't  you  say  you 
dropped  a  nut  or  something  and  went  back  for  it? 
What's  the  good  of  having  a  brain  if  you  never  use  it  at 
an  awkward  moment?" 

Dixon  stroked  his  head,  supposed  he  was  a  fool  to 
interfere,  said  it  was  raining  worse  than  ever,  and  argued 
that  he  was  not  dilly-dallying  while  the  child  caught  her 
death  of  cold,  but  only  making  up  his  mind  as  to  what  he 
would  say  and  do  if  he  was  given  a  month's  notice  on 
the  spot. 

"What  you  forget  is  that  the  cushions  are  new,"  he 
said.  "From  what  I  saw  of  Miss  Peggy  you  might  as 
well  turn  the  lake  on  them.  You  can't  altogether  blame 
Mrs.  Twistleton.  Besides,  if  I  do  fetch  the  child,  what 
am  I  to  do  with  her?  Put  her  in  the  hall  and  let  her 
ruin  the  carpets  as  well  as  the  cushions?  Not  much." 

Mrs.  Butterfield  heaved  a  sigh  as  heavy  as  her  person, 
sent  the  kitchen-maid  for  a  rug,  gave  it  to  Dixon  and 
told  him  to  wrap  Peggy  in  it,  put  her  beside  him  and 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  105 

bring  her  to  the  back  door.  If  any  questions  were  asked 
she  would  take  the  responsibility  because  she  didn't  much 
care  whether  she  left  or  stayed.  She  didn't  like  such 
goings-on. 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Dixon,  accepting  the  rug 
with  a  look  of  relief.  "If  I  can  keep  her  off  the 
cushions.  .  .  ." 

If  Mrs.  Butterfield  had  not  been  a  woman  of  self- 
control  and  particular  about  her  language  she  would  have 
said  "Drat  the  cushions."  She  looked  it  as  she  almost 
shut  the  door  in  Dixon's  face :  and  when  she  spoke  to 
Jordan  about  what  had  happened,  and  was  told  that  Miss 
Peggy  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  breakfast  but  apple 
snow,  she  grew  angrier  still. 

"There  are  things  you  can  bear  to  see  and  there  are 
things  you  can't  bear  to  see,"  she  said  darkly.  "If 
Mrs.  Twistleton  says  anything  to  Dixon  about  the  car  I 
shall  speak." 

"You'd  only  be  told  to  go,"  said  Jordan.  "There's 
nothing  you  can  get  hold  of.  Miss  Peggy's  not  an  easy 
child.  Why  was  her  pinafore  muddy,  and  why  was  she 
so  late  for  lunch?  Why  didn't  she  come  in  with  the 
others?  It's  not  all  Mrs.  Twistleton." 

But  when,  twenty  minutes  later,  Dixon  came  back  with 
Peggy  in  his  arms  and  Dingo  at  his  heels  Jordan  changed 
his  note.  Dixon  walked  straight  into  the  hall  where  Mrs. 
Butterfield  was  at  tea  with  the  upper  servants  and  put 
what  looked  like  a  bundle  of  rugs  on  the  sofa. 

"I  found  her  lying  on  a  heap  of  stones,"  he  said. 
"She's  alive  now,  but  I  can't  say  what  she'll  be  to- 
morrow. She's  as  wet  as  a  fish  and  as  cold  as  a  hail- 
stone. She's  asleep,  I  think.  Perhaps  she  isn't  as  bad 
as  she  looks.  If  you  put  her  in  a  hot  bath  and  give 
her  a  drink.  .  .  ." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Dixon,"  said  Mrs.  But- 
terfield majestically.  "I  shall  know  what  to  do." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MRS.  BUTTERFIELD  undressed  Peggy,  wrapped 
her  in  a  thick,  soft  old  Shetland  shawl,  took 
her  on  her  knee  close  to  the  fire  and  gave  her  a 
cup  of  hot  milky  tea.  The  child  soon  came  out  of  her 
dazed  state,  but  she  shivered  with  cold. 

"We'll  have  a  hot  bath  directly,"  said  Mrs.  Butter- 
field,  "and  then  we'll  be  popped  into  bed  with  a  hot 
bottle." 

"But  I'm  not  ill,"  said  Peggy.  "I  expect  I'll  have  to 
do  my  lessons." 

She  spoke  heavily  and  sleepily  and  her  eyes  closed  as 
her  head  sank  upon  the  cook's  shoulder.  She  felt  queer 
and  did  not  understand  it:  but  she  felt  comfortable. 
After  the  heap  of  stones  and  the  relentless  rain  and  the 
desolation  of  the  roadside,  Mrs.  Butterfield's  lap  was  a 
pleasant  place.  She  began  to  dream  and  then  to  wake 
again. 

"Where  is  Dingo  ?"  she  asked,  trying  to  open  her  eyes. 
But  they  were  heavy. 

"He's  having  a  hot  bath  in  the  scullery,"  said  Mrs. 
Butterfield.  "He'll  be  in  directly  as  proud  as  a  prince, 
and  wanting  his  tea,  I'll  be  bound." 

"He  has  biscuits,"  murmured  Peggy.  "They  are  in 
my  cupboard.  What  he  likes  is  a  bone." 

"He  shall  have  a  bone,  my  lamb.  Don't  you  trouble 
yourself  about  nothing." 

Peggy  dropped  off  again  and  only  half  waked  when 
Mrs.  Butterfield  carried  her  upstairs.  Even  in  the 
delicious  hot  bath  that  had  been  got  ready  for  her  she 
felt  stupid  and  drowsy :  but  she  was  not  in  it  long.  The 
towel  that  the  cook  dried  her  with  was  hot  and  so  was 

106 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  107 

her  bed  when  she  was  carried  there.  Yet  she  still  felt 
those  odd  shivers  across  her  back,  while  her  head  ached 
and  her  hands  were  hot. 

"Does  Miss  Busby  know  that  I've  gone  to  bed?"  she 
said. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  her  now,"  said  the  cook.  "You  go 
to  sleep." 

Mrs.  Butterfield  went  into  the  schoolroom,  where  she 
found  Miss  Busby  trying  to  crochet  a  pink  jumper  from 
one  of  Weldon's  pattern  books,  while  Mabel  made  a 
hash  of  the  Wedding  March  from  Lohengrin  on  the 
piano.  The  Wedding  March  stopped  in  the  middle  at 
the  unexpected  irruption  of  the  cook  into  the  schoolroom, 
and  Miss  Busby  looked  up  in  amazement,  but  imme- 
diately looked  down  again  at  her  pattern  book. 

"  'Commence  with  one  hundred  and  seventeen  chain 
and  work  ten  rows  of  border.'  One  moment,  Mrs.  But- 
terfield. This  is  so  difficult.  Can  you  crochet?  I've 
never  tried  a  jumper  before,  and  if  I  go  wrong.  .  .  ." 

"You've  finished  your  tea,  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Butter- 
field,  for  the  table  was  clear. 

"Long  since,"  said  Mabel,  who  had  twirled  round  on 
the  music-stool.  "It's  nearly  six  o'clock." 

'  'The  front  being  wider  than  the  back  will  contain 
more  groups  of  treble.'  " 

"What  about  Miss  Peggy?" 

"She  hasn't  come  in  yet,"  said  Mabel.  "Isn't  she 
the  limit?" 

"She  had  no  lunch." 

"She'll  have  no  tea  either,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Mabel. 
"It's  her  own  doing.  She  should  have  kept  up  with  us." 

"She  is  three  years  younger  than  you,  miss,  and  not 
strong  at  that  .  .  .  and  had  had  no  meat  since  breakfast 
.  .  .  for  I  don't  call  apple  snow  meat." 

"More  do  I,"  said  Mabel  with  a  giggle. 

"  'Miss    one    treble,    three    treble,' "    murmured    Miss 


io8  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

Busby,  and  then  raising  her  head  and  addressing  Mrs. 
Butterfield  in  a  tone  intended  to  convey  reproof,  she 
said: 

"Mrs.  Twistleton  will  not  allow  Miss  Peggy  to  have 
any  meal  that  she  misses  through  her  own  misconduct. 
That  is  her  rule.  Miss  Peggy  must  learn  to  be  punctual 
and  obedient." 

The  cook  still  stood  in  the  doorway,  a  corpulent  figure, 
illiterate,  and  dressed  in  her  working  clothes,  yet,  by 
reason  of  her  nature,  having  more  dignity  than  the  foolish 
young  woman  presiding  in  the  schoolroom.  She  owned 
to  Jordan  when  she  got  downstairs  that  she  would  have 
liked  to  snatch  the  crochet  work  from  Miss  Busby's  hands 
and  shake  her,  but  she  showed  no  sign  of  such  elemental 
impulses  in  her  speech  or  manner. 

"I  have  given  Miss  Peggy  some  tea  and  a  hot  bath 
and  put  her  to  bed,"  she  said. 

Miss  Busby's  ideas  were  not  easily  detached  from  her 
own  affairs,  and  at  the  moment  the  pink  jumper  was  her 
affair;  but  she  stared  at  the  cook  in  surprise. 

"What  very  odd  behavior!"  she  said.  "Miss  Peggy's 
place  is  in  the  schoolroom." 

"Yes,  I  know  as  it's  your  place  to  look  after  Miss 
Peggy,"  said  the  cook  blandly,  "but  I  really  couldn't 
bring  her  up  here,  the  state  she  was  in  ...  it  wasn't  fit. 
She's  asleep  now,  and  I'm  going  to  ask  Mrs.  Twistleton 
to  'phone  for  the  doctor." 

"Whatever  for?"  cried  Mabel. 

"Is  she  ill?"  said  Miss  Busby  skeptically. 

"She's  goin'  to  be,  if  I  know  anything  about  children," 
said  the  cook,  and  closed  the  door  after  her. 

Miss  Busby  felt  disturbed  and  annoyed.  Before  she 
settled  down  to  her  jumper  again  she  went  to  Peggy's 
little  room,  opened  the  door  and  looked  in.  Mabel  went 
with  her. 

"Hullo,  Peggy!"  said  Mabel. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  109 

"Well,  Peggy!"  said  Miss  Busby. 

But  Peggy  took  no  notice  of  them  although  her  eyes 
were  not  quite  shut.  She  had  a  high  color  by  this  time, 
and  her  breathing  was  quick  and  labored. 

"She  doesn't  seem  quite  right,"  said  Miss  Busby.  "I 
daresay  she  wants  a  night's  rest." 

So  she  went  back  to  her  jumper,  helped  Mabel  to  bed 
at  the  proper  time,  ate  a  hearty  supper  brought  upstairs 
by  the  housemaid,  and  went  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock  without 
looking  at  Peggy  again.  She  had  rather  expected  to  see 
Mrs.  Twistleton  and  to  be  hauled  over  the  coals  for 
having  left  Peggy  behind  in  the  rain.  With  regard  to 
Peggy,  there  was  never  any  knowing  what  would  please 
Mrs.  Twistleton  or  what  would  displease  her.  While 
Mr.  Twistleton  lived  there  had  sometimes  been  an  ex- 
plosion on  his  part  on  the  child's  behalf  that  resulted 
in  some  new  clothes  or  the  remission  of  punishment. 
He  it  was  who  had  given  orders  that  Dingo  should  not 
be  killed  after  Mr.  Gerard  had  brought  Peggy  home. 
But  now  he  was  dead  and  Mr.  Gerard  was  away  in 
Manchester.  Miss  Busby  supposed  that  Peggy  was  in 
for  a  bad  time.  Luckily,  children  were  tough  and  in- 
sensitive. They  did  not  suffer  as  their  elders  did:  and 
Peggy  brought  her  troubles  on  herself.  If  she  had  been 
more  like  Mabel  her  step-mother  might  have  suffered  her 
more  gladly.  But  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  an  odd  woman. 
She  actually  seemed  to  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  pain  and 
the  infliction  of  it.  The  idea  was  not  pleasant,  so  Miss 
Busby  would  not  dwell  on  it.  She  was  comfortable 
herself  at  Beda  Close,  and  wherever  you  live  as  a  hireling 
you  must  take  the  rough  with  the  smooth  and  shut  your 
eyes.  If  she  tried  to  interfere  on  Peggy's  behalf  she 
would  be  dismissed,  and  so  injure  herself  without 
benefiting  Peggy. 

Mrs.  Butterfield  had  not  been  able  to  see  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton. She  had  received  a  message  to  say  that  this  was 


no  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

impossible  to-night  as  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  tired.  She 
had  sent  another  message  about  Peggy  and  a  doctor, 
and  had  received  one  back  through  Jordan  that  virtually 
told  her  to  mind  her  own  business.  As  her  urgent  busi- 
ness by  that  time  was  Mrs.  Twistleton's  dinner  she  had 
to  go  about  it :  and  as,  after  all,  she  knew  next  to  nothing 
of  illness,  she  did  this,  with  a  satisfied  mind.  She  had 
done  her  best  for  the  child,  who  might  be  better  by 
to-morrow  and  could  have  the  doctor  if  she  was  worse. 
She  was  not  surprised  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Twistleton 
had  not  gone  near  Peggy,  and  had  listened  with  a  stony 
face  to  Jordan's  story  and  had  made  no  comment  on 
it,  but  had  sent  a  message  about  a  Dutch  sauce  that  was 
not  to  be  quite  as  thick  to-night  as  it  had  been  a  night 
or  two  ago.  When  Jordan  asked  whether  he  should 
'phone  for  the  doctor  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  said,  "Cer- 
tainly not." 

"I  know  her,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield,  who  was  very 
angry  about  the  Dutch  sauce.  "Sits  there  like  a  basilisk 
and  glares  at  you." 

"What  is  a  basilisk?"  asked  the  kitchen-maid,  who 
was  chopping  capers  for  the  sauce. 

"Something  that  glares,"  said  Mrs.  Butterfield.  "You 
get  those  capers  as  fine  as  pepper,  my  girl,  and  never 
mind  what  Mr.  Jordan  and  I  are  conversing  about." 

But  when  the  dinner  had  been  sent  up  Mrs.  Butter- 
field,  tired  as  she  was,  went  to  look  at  Peggy:  and  she 
came  downstairs  again  saying  she  didn't  like  the  look 
of  her  or  the  sound  of  her:  and  that  she  would  clap  a 
poultice  on  the  child's  chest  before  she  went  to  bed. 

"It's  taking  a  good  deal  on  yourself,"  said  Jordan. 

"Not  more  than  I  can  bear,"  said  the  cook. 

She  was  cross  and  tired  next  morning  though  because 
she  had  spent  the  whole  night  in  Peggy's  room,  and  said 
as  much  when  Mrs.  Twistleton  came  downstairs  to  give 
orders. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  ill 

"I  haven't  seen  Miss  Peggy  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton 
indifferently.  "Is  her  cold  worse?" 

The  cook  felt  like  glaring  then,  but  her  manner  was 
outwardly  deferential. 

"I  think  it  is  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  m'm,"  she 
said.  "She  will  probably  die  if  she  is  neglected  much 
longer." 

A  tremor  passed  over  Mrs.  Twistleton's  face  that  the 
cook,  watching  her,  perceived  and  appreciated.  "I've 
frightened  her,"  she  thought  to  herself :  and  went  on  to 
ask  whether  she  should  make  some  beef-tea  in  case  it 
was  wanted. 

"The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  'phone  for  the  doctor," 
said  Mrs.  Twistleton  sharply.  "Why  was  I  not  told 
before  that  Miss  Peggy  was  really  ill?  Oh,  yes,  I  got 
some  message  about  her  being  out  in  the  rain,  but  noth- 
ing to  alarm  me.  It  is  a  pity  there  is  no  one  in  the 
house  with  a  little  common  sense." 

That  was  the  way  she  talked  to  Miss  Busby  too,  and 
to  the  doctor  when  he  came,  and  to  the  nurses.  Yes! 
there  were  two  nurses  in  the  house  by  next  day,  and  one 
of  them  told  Miss  Busby  that  if  the  little  girl  lived  it 
would  be  a  miracle.  But  the  impudence  of  it !  said  Mrs. 
Butterfield  to  Jordan  and  Dixon.  After  all  that  had 
happened,  to  turn  on  them.  As  if  she  could  take  them 
in!  They  knew  what  had  happened  right  enough,  and 
next  time  Mr.  Gerard  came  to  the  house  Mrs.  Butterfield 
would  have  a  word  with  him.  Indeed,  if  Mr.  Jordan 
could  give  her  the  gentleman's  address  she  would  not 
wait  for  him  to  come.  She  would  write  to  him. 

The  letter  was  posted  on  a  Thursday,  and  on  Friday 
Mrs.  Twistleton  received  a  telegram  from  Victor  to  say 
that  he  was  coming  over  on  business  next  day.  She 
ordered  a  room  to  be  got  ready  for  him  and  went  to  meet 
him  at  Senwick  in  the  car.  She  did  some  shopping  first 
so  that  he  could  not  suppose  that  she  had  gone  in  on 


H2  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

purpose  to  meet  him :  but  she  did  not  explain  this.  She 
never  embroiled  herself  in  explanations,  but  left  circum- 
stances to  explain  themselves,  which  they  usually  did, 
in  her  favor.  She  looked  handsome  and  many  years  less 
than  her  age,  as  she  waited  in  the  car:  for  she  did  not 
wear  widow's  weeds.  She  wore  black  furs  that  were 
becoming  and  a  fur  hat  made  for  her  by  a  Frenchwoman 
in  London  who  knew  just  what  size  and  what  lines 
enhanced  her  looks  to  the  utmost.  She  had  reddened 
her  lips  and  powdered  her  face  and  she  wore  a  veil.  She 
liked  the  prospect  of  entertaining  Victor  now  that  she 
was  by  herself  and  free.  He  had  not  shown  himself 
susceptible  yet,  but  perhaps  he  would  before  long.  A 
man  who  had  knocked  about  the  world  as  he  had  done 
must  have  had  experiences  and  be  ready  for  adventure. 
He  would  want  to  talk  business,  she  supposed,  but  she 
did  not  know  what  there  could  be  new  to  say.  She  had 
not  expected  him  to  come  again  so  soon.  Perhaps  he 
had  made  an  excuse  to  come. 

There  he  was:  the  first  to  get  out  of  the  station  and 
carrying  his  suit-case  himself.  Quick  and  energetic  in 
his  walk,  young,  cheerful:  a  contrast  in  every  way  to 
the  dull,  dyspeptic  old  man  she  had  endured  for  the  last 
five  years.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  agreeable  expectation 
that  she  greeted  him  and  made  room  for  him  beside  her. 

"Everything  all  right?"  he  said,  as  they  moved  off. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "Did  you  have  a  pleasant 
journey?" 

"Quite.    How  is  Peggy?" 

"Oh!  Peggy  .  .  .  your  ward,  of  course.  How  cor- 
rect of  you  to  ask  after  her!  I'm  sorry  to  say  she 
is  ill." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Pneumonia." 

"How  did  she  get  it?" 

"How  do  people  get  pneumonia?     She  was  out  in 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  113 

the  rain:  but  she  had  been  out  in  the  rain  a  thousand 
times  and  come  to  no  harm.    I  have  two  nurses  for  her. 
Dr.  Jones  advised  it.    They  have  spread  themselves  over 
the  whole  wing.    I  detest  nurses.     But  I  took  Mabel  and 
Miss  Busby  away  because  some  people  think  pneumonia 
is  infectious.     I  don't  much  believe  in  it,  but  one  can't 
be  too  careful.    You  are  not  afraid  of  it,  are  you?" 
"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Victor.    "Is  Peggy  very  bad?" 
"She  was  yesterday.    I've  not  seen  her  to-day." 
Mrs.  Twistleton  felt  discontented  and  displeased.    The 
occasion  was  not  taking  on  the  character  she  had  an- 
ticipated: one  of  friendly  intimacy,  flattering  to  herself. 
The  young  man  had  a  way  of  speaking  that  was  sharp 
and  decisive:  like  his  glance  and  his  profile.    It  was  very 
well  when  he  addressed  other  people,  but  she  felt  the 
edge  of  it  uncomfortably  to-day.     Besides,  he  seemed 
to  be  more  interested  in  Peggy  than  in  her,  which  was 
absurd. 

"I'll  run  up  and  see  her,"  he  said  directly  he  arrived, 
and  without  asking  her  permission. 

To  be  sure  he  was  Peggy's  guardian,  but  that  did  not 
make  things  any  better.  She  hoped  he  was  not  going 
to  give  trouble. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

POOR  Peggy!  She  lay  there  gasping  for  breath, 
seeing  people  come  and  go  like  shadows,  ridden 
by  bad  dreams,  stabbed  by  pain.  The  night  and 
the  day  before  the  nurses  arrived  were  still  heavy  on  her 
mind,  haunting  it.  Once  in  the  night  her  step-mother 
had  come  in  silently,  had  looked  at  her  fixedly  and  gone 
out  again.  Mrs.  Butterfield  had  fallen  asleep  in  her  chair 
and  had  heard  nothing :  nor  would  she  believe  that  Peggy 
had  seen  what  she  had  seen.  But  Peggy  knew.  Then 
day  came,  bringing  still  worse  pain.  That  had  been  a 
time  of  torment.  Mrs.  Butterfield  was  busy  downstairs 
and  no  one  had  come  near  her  except  her  step-mother, 
who  first  brought  the  doctor  and  then  put  on  a  poultice, 
scalding  hot.  Peggy  had  tried  to  scream,  but  could  only 
groan.  She  could  not  remember  much  after  that.  Per- 
haps she  had  gone  to  sleep.  She  was  always  hot  and 
thirsty,  but  there  was  nothing  to  drink.  Her  bed  was 
untidy  and  uncomfortable,  but  there  was  no  one  to  make 
it.  After  a  long  time  she  waked  and  saw  the  nurses 
looking  at  her.  They  were  kind  and  knew  how  thirsty 
she  was  and  gave  her  drinks.  They  made  her  bed  com- 
fortable and  washed  her  all  over,  so  that  she  felt  cooler, 
and  they  let  the  fresh  air  come  in  at  the  window.  She 
heard  the  rain  outside  and  it  sent  her  to  sleep.  When- 
ever she  waked  by  day  or  by  night  one  of  the  nurses 
was  there  and  did  pleasant  little  things  that  made  her 
feel  better.  They  did  not  talk  much :  but  once  when  she 
heard  talking  she  opened  her  eyes  and  saw  Mr.  Gerard : 
not  a  dream  of  him,  but  the  real  man,  who  took  her 
hot  hand  in  his  cool  one  and  asked  her  what  she  had 
been  doing  to  herself.  She  meant  to  answer  him,  but 

114 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  115 

she  must  have  fallen  asleep  without  meaning  to,  for  when 
she  opened  her  eyes  again  he  had  gone.  She  did  not 
mind  as  much  as  she  would  have  done  if  she  had  been 
well.  She  was  too  weak  and  sleepy  to  mind  anything 
except  her  physical  sensations  and  sometimes  her  dreams. 

Victor  had  gone  downstairs,  anxious,  but  yet  relieved. 
Peggy  was  very  ill,  but  she  was  being  well  nursed,  and 
the  nurse  on  duty  had  told  him  that  she  had  good  hope 
of  the  child's  recovery.  He  found  Mrs.  Twistleton  sit- 
ting by  the  fire,  and  she  reminded  him  more  than  ever 
of  a  large  soft  cat  that  blinks  and  watches  and  waits. 
She  was  in  black,  but  when  she  wore  black  you  did  not 
associate  it  with  mourning.  Her  throat  and  arms  were 
creamy.  The  tapestried  chair  in  which  she  sat  made  a 
gorgeous  background  for  her  ripe  charms,  and  on  a  table 
at  her  elbow  there  was  a-  bowl  with  orchids  as  exotic- 
looking  as  she  was  herself.  She  had  a  book  in  her  hand 
when  Victor  went  in,  but  put  it  down  and  waited  for  him 
to  speak.  He  did  not  sit  down  at  first. 

"She  is  pretty  bad,"  he  said.     "Poor  little  thing!" 

"I  thought  she  was  better  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton. She  did  not  actually  yawn,  but  she  managed  to 
look  bored  without  yawning. 

"Have  you  seen  her  since  you  got  back?" 

"No." 

She  might  have  done  so,  for  Victor  had  dressed  after  he 
had  seen  Peggy  and  before  he  came  downstairs.  Even- 
ing clothes  suited  him.  Rhoda  was  thinking  so,  as  she 
watched  his  profile  at  times  when  he  was  frowning  or 
absorbed.  She  admired  hardness  in  men.  The  two  she 
had  married  had  both  been  wax  in  her  hands  and  she 
had  wearied  of  them.  This  man  was  younger  than  she 
was,  but  he  was  not  young  for  his  age.  He  had  not  lived 
in  cotton  wool,  keeping  himself  soft.  She  hoped  he  would 
not  want  to  talk  of  Peggy  all  the  evening. 

"How  did  she  get  the  chill?"  he  asked.     He  had  had 


ii6  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

a  long  rambling  letter  from  Mrs.  Butterfield  telling  him 
what  had  occurred,  but  he  could  not  give  her  away:  and 
he  was  curious  to  hear  Mrs.  Twistleton's  account.  How- 
ever, she  did  not  seem  willing  to  give  one. 

"I  told  you,"  she  said  with  a  touch  of  impatience. 
"It  rained  and  Peggy  was  out  in  it.  She  isn't  the  only 
child  in  the  world  who  ever  got  wet  through  and  suffered 
for  it." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Victor,  "but  we  must  take  care 
that  it  doesn't  happen  again.  Are  you  satisfied  with 
Miss  Busby?" 

"I  don't  propose  to  send  her  away." 

It  was  difficult.  Victor  could  not  lay  down  the  law 
for  Mrs.  Twistleton  in  her  own  house  and  he  could  not 
remove  Peggy  without  good  reason.  He  managed  to 
see  Mrs.  Butterfield  before  he  left  and  told  her  to  write 
to  him  whenever  she  thought  it  necessary:  and  when 
Peggy  turned  the  corner  he  went  over  again  and  arranged 
that  one  of  the  nurses  should  take  her  to  Grange-over- 
Sands  as  soon  as  she  could  travel.  Mrs.  Twistleton 
thought  this  unnecessary  and  said  so:  but  he  had  his 
way.  Moreover,  when  he  went  up  to  see  Peggy  he  saw 
the  nurse  too,  and  asked  her  if  the  child  had  plenty  of 
warm  clothes.  "What  a  thoughtful  young  man  he  is," 
said  the  nurse  to  herself,  and  told  him  that  Peggy  had 
nothing  warm  to  wear  at  all. 

"How  is  that?"  he  said  to  Peggy,  who  was  on  his 
knee,  looking  all  eyes  and  colorless.  Her  hair  had  been 
cut  close  while  she  was  ill  and  little  red-gold  curls  were 
beginning  to  cover  her  head. 

"She  hasn't  even  a  dressing-gown,"  continued  the 
nurse.  "I  spoke  to  Mrs.  Twistleton  about  it  but  nothing 
has  been  done." 

"Give  me  a  list  of  what  you  want  and  measurements," 
said  Victor  shortly.  He  was  angry,  and  he  looked  it. 
"Not  a  young  man  I  should  like  to  cross,"  thought  the 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  117 

nurse,  and  she  began  to  make  the  list  at  once,  while 
Peggy  leaned  her  head  on  Victor's  shoulder  and  listened 
to  his  story  of  the  bear  that  came  to  the  rubbish-heap 
near  the  hotel  and  got  its  paw  imprisoned  in  a 
treacle-tin. 

"When  I  go  to  Grange  will  you  come  to  see  me?" 
she  said,  directly  the  story  was  finished. 

"Why  should  I?    You  know  I  don't  like  children." 

"Don't  you  like  me?" 

"Not  much." 

"I  believe  you  do  ...  a  little.  Can  I  take  Dingo  to 
Grange?  What  is  nurse  doing?  Why  is  she  measuring 
my  arms  and  legs  and  my  neck?" 

"You'll  see  before  long,"  said  Victor,  and  directly  he 
got  back  to  Manchester  he  put  the  case  before  his  married 
sister  and  took  her  with  him  to  the  shops  she  recom- 
mended. About  a  week  later  the  nurse  received  a  letter 
from  him  with  a  key  in  it,  and  two  days  before  they 
were  to  start  for  Grange  the  carrier  from  Senwick  left 
a  neat  trunk  at  the  house  with  Peggy's  initials  painted 
on  it.  Mrs.  Butterfield  happened  to  be  about  when  it 
arrived  and  had  it  sent  up  to  Peggy's  room.  The  nurse 
had  told  her  that  it  was  coming. 

"Your  trunk  has  come,"  said  the  nurse,  putting  her 
head  into  the  schoolroom  where,  for  the  first  time  since 
her  illness,  Peggy  sat  by  the  fire  with  Miss  Busby  and 
Mabel. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  it  unpacked  ?" 

Of  course  she  did :  and  so  did  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel. 
There  was  not  much  room  for  them  all  in  Peggy's  small 
bedroom,  but  they  squeezed  in  somehow,  and  then  Mabel 
asked  Peggy  if  she  had  known  that  the  trunk  was  coming. 
Peggy  said  she  had  not  known:  but  she  supposed  that 
Mr.  Gerard  had  sent  it. 

"How  odd  of  him!"  said  Mabel.  "I  wonder  if  Mother 
knows  about  it.  I  wonder  what  he  has  sent.  Oh!  Oh! 


ii8  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 


Peggy!  I  wish  I'd  been  ill.  I  wish  Mr.  Gerard  was  my 
guardian.  I  do  wonder  what  Mother  will  do  about  it 
though.  She  likes  us  to  be  plainly  dressed." 

From  the  top  till  of  the  trunk  the  nurse  had  taken  out 
a  long  fur  coat  and  a  blue  quilted  silk  dressing-gown, 
both  Peggy's  size.  Then  there  was  a  warm  traveling- 
rug,  and  in  a  corner  a  fur  cap  to  match  the  coat  and  a 
pair  of  fur  gloves.  Underneath  the  till  there  were  sets 
of  warm  underclothing  and  stockings  all  marked  with 
Peggy's  name  :  and  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  trunk  there 
were  books  and  two  or  three  games  and  a  big  box  of 
chocolates.  Mabel  began  on  the  chocolates  at  once,  but 
the  nurse  took  them  from  her. 

"Everything  is  to  go  to  Grange,"  she  said;  "Mr. 
Gerard  says  so  in  his  letter." 

"Mr.  Gerard  isn't  master  of  the  house,"  said  Mabel 
pertly,  and  as  soon  as  she  could  run  downstairs  to  tell 
her  mother  of  what  had  happened. 

"It  isn't  Mr.  Gerard's  business  to  buy  Peggy's  clothes, 
is  it?"  she  said. 

"He  evidently  thinks  it  is." 

"I  call  it  officious,  don't  you?  Besides,  Peggy  can't 
go  about  in  a  fur  coat  unless  I  have  one  too,  can  she? 
I  should  like  one." 

"You  won't  get  one,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton.  "I  don't 
like  fur  coats  for  children." 

"Shall  you  let  Peggy  wear  this  one?" 

Mrs.  Twistleton  did  not  answer,  but  got  rid  of  Mabel 
as  soon  as  she  could.  She  was  annoyed,  but  kept  her 
annoyance  to  herself  for  the  present.  While  her  hus- 
band had  lived  he  had  given  her  an  allowance  for  the 
children's  clothes  and  she  had  spent  it  nearly  all  on 
Mabel  and  herself.  He  gave  her  a  great  deal  for  herself 
but  it  had  never  been  enough.  There  was  hardly  a  limit 
to  what  she  could  spend  on  her  own  luxuries.  Mr. 
Twistleton  had  sometimes  complained  that  Peggy  went 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  119 

badly  shod  or  shabby,  but  it  had  been  easy  to  throw  sand 
in  his  eyes.  Victor  Gerard  was  not  going  to  be  so  easy. 
Besides,  he  had  control  of  Peggy's  large  fortune.  Peggy's 
large  fortune!  The  thought  was  insufferable. 

Peggy  stayed  at  Grange  till  just  before  Christmas  and 
got  fat  and  rosy  there.  Victor  hardly  knew  her  when  he 
went  to  see  her.  She  had  grown  much  taller,  her  face 
had  filled  out,  and  her  copper-colored  hair  was  thick  and 
curly  again.  Two  long,  slim,  black  legs  beneath  a  skirt 
several  inches  too  short  danced  beside  him  from  the  sta- 
tion up  to  the  hotel,  and  two  eyes,  bright  with  health  and 
youth,  smiled  at  him.  He  felt  pleased  with  himself. 
This  was  his  doing.  He  had  not  wanted  to  be  any  child's 
guardian,  but  when  he  undertook  a  job  it  was  his  way 
to  do  it  well:  at  least,  as  well  as  he  could.  His  ward 
was  a  credit  to  him — except  as  regards  the  shortness  of 
her  skirts,  which  he  told  her  at  once  was  scandalous. 

"Nurse  did  let  down  the  hem  and  put  in  a  false  one. 
She  couldn't  do  more,"  said  Peggy.  "She  says  I  ought 
to  have  two  new  frocks.  I  have  grown  so  fast  that  mine 
are  too  tight  and  too  short  for  me.  But  I  daresay  I 
shall  get  thin  again  when  I  go  home.  Oh  dear!" 

"What's  the  matter,  Peggy?" 

"I  don't  want  to  go  home  ever  again.  Why  must 
I  go?" 

"Don't  you  want  to  see  Mabel  ?" 

"Not  particularly." 

"And  the  tarn  and  the  lake  and  Mrs.  Butterfield?" 

"Mrs.  Butterfield  has  gone." 

"Who  told  you  so?" 

"Mabel  told  me  in  a  letter.     I  cried." 

"Did  she  write  to  you?" 

"Who?    Mabel?" 

"No.     Mrs.  Butterfield." 

Peggy  shook  her  head.  "I  asked  her  to  when  I  bid 
her  good-by,  but  she  said  she  didn't  like  her  letters  going 


120  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

about.     She  would  be  laughed  at  because  she  had  had 
no  education,  except  in  cooking." 

Victor  felt  startled  and  displeased.  If  Mrs.  Butterfield 
had  gone,  Peggy  had  lost  her  only  friend  in  the  house: 
for  he  judged  the  other  servants  to  be  occupied  with 
their  own  affairs  and  indifferent  to  her.  He  wondered 
what  had  happened,  and  was  surprised  that  Mrs.  Butter- 
field  had  not  written  to  tell  him.  But  a  week  later  he 
had  a  letter  from  her  in  which  she  explained  what  had 
happened.  It  all  came,  she  said,  through  a  little  pitcher 
who  had  long  ears  and  grown-up  people  who  ought  to 
have  known  better  than  to  talk  in  front  of  her. 

"Miss  Peggy  being  away,  Miss  Mabel  took  to  playing 
with  that  Ada  Dixon,  which  never  should  have  been 
allowed.  They  were  always  about  together  in  the  garden 
till  they  fell  out,  and  then  the  fat  was  in  the  fire  as 
the  saying  is.  Miss  Mabel  tells  Ada  her  father  is  only  a 
servant,  not  being  what  I  call  a  well-mannered  child, 
really  any  more  than  her  mother  ...  as  different  from 
Miss  Peggy's  mother  as  chalk  from  cheese.  I  don't  blame 
Ada  either  for  sticking  up  for  her  father.  But  she 
should  not  have  rolled  Miss  Mabel  in  the  road  and  then 
sat  on  her  and  shouted  'Jezebel!'  at  her,  so  that  the 
neighbors  came  out  of  their  cottages  to  hear.  Jezebel 
wasn't  the  end  of  it  neither.  She  must  out  with  the 
whole  story  about  her  father  going  back  for  Miss  Peggy, 
as  we  know  he  did,  and  about  my  writing  to  you.  How 
she  got  hold  of  that  I  do  not  know,  but  Dixon  posts  all 
the  letters  and  I  presume  took  notice,  and,  like  a  silly 
man,  told  his  wife.  I  was  asked  about  the  affair  next 
day  and  kept  my  temper,  which  is  more  than  I  can  say 
for  her.  She  was  put  out  and  said  something  about 
spies  in  the  house  and  gentlemen  not  being  gentlemen 
who  talked  to  cooks.  I  said  in  that  case  I  had  better 
go,  and  she  said,  'By  all  means,  and  Dixon  is  going 


LAW  AND   OUTLAW  121 

too'  ...  all  through  that  Ada.  However,  as  I  tell  him, 
there's  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it, 
and  if  she  refuses  me  a  character  I  shall  apply  to  Mr. 
Twistleton's  sister,  who  never  liked  her  and  has  known 
me  twenty  years.  I'm  sorry  not  to  see  Miss  Peggy 
again,  as  I  held  her  in.  my  arms  when  she  was  born. 
Pity  you  haven't  a  house  of  your  own.  This  is  no  place 
for  her :  so  no  more  at  present  from  yours  obediently, 

"ELIZABETH  BUTTERFIELD." 

Peggy  was  back  at  Beda  Close  when  Victor  received 
this  letter,  and  it  only  wanted  a  week  to  Christmas.  He 
thought  he  would  run  over  in  the  New  Year  and  see  how 
she  was  getting  on.  No  doubt  he  would  have  done  if 
the  gods  had  not  intervened  with  an  urgent  summons 
from  Australia  that  caused  him  to  leave  Manchester  at 
once. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  winter  lingered  and  the  spring  came,  and  still 
Peggy  flagged.  She  looked  thin  and  hollow-eyed 
again,  took  cold  easily  and  set  up  a  cough  that 
annoyed  Mrs.  Twistleton.  If  it  came  on  at  lunch  she 
was  sent  out  of  the  room,  and  before  long  it  came  on 
at  lunch  regularly  because  she  was  afraid  it  would.  There 
was  no  Mrs.  Butterfield  in  the  kitchen  now,  but  a  new 
woman  who  disliked  Dingo  because  he  had  once  stolen 
a  kidney  waiting  on  an  open  dish  in  the  kitchen  fender. 
She  disliked  Peggy  too,  because  in  her  haste  to  defend 
Dingo  the  child  had  said  the  dish  should  not  have  been 
on  the  fender :  which  was  true  and  offensive.  So  Peggy 
had  nowhere  to  go  now  when  she  was  hungry,  and  had 
to  wait  till  tea-time  for  bread-and-butter.  Under  these 
conditions  the  winter  walks  were  so  tiring  that  when  she 
got  back  she  could  not  eat  much.  She  wanted  to  lie 
down  and  rest,  but  this  was  not  allowed  after  Mrs. 
Twistleton  found  her  on  the  sofa  at  tea-time,  and  said 
she  would  not  have  such  lazy  ways.  She  had  begun  her 
cold  baths  again  directly  after  Christmas,  but  she  never 
got  used  to  them  or  felt  warm  after  them.  They  were 
a  form  of  torture  that  she  dreaded  as  she  dreaded  other 
things  in  the  daily  round:  the  fits  of  coughing  that  left 
her  exhausted,  the  mockery  of  lunch,  the  lessons  that 
stupefied  her,  and  the  walks  in  snow  and  bitter  winds. 
The  new  frocks  the  nurse  had  recommended  had  never 
been  bought,  and  she  was  not  allowed  to  wear  her  fur 
coat  because  Mrs.  Twistleton  said  it  looked  ridiculous 
on  a  child  of  her  age.  Peggy  did  not  dare  to  answer 
that  she  did  not  mind  being  ridiculous  if  only  she  could 

122 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  123 

be  warm.  She  was  supposed  to  get  warm  with  exercise, 
she  knew,  and  so  she  might  have  done  formerly  by  run- 
ning races  with  Dingo.  But  nowadays  when  she  tried 
to  run  she  began  to  cough  and  got  hot  with  coughing, 
and  after  that  shivering  cold.  She  was  unpopular  every- 
where because  of  the  noise  she  made  with  her  cough,  and 
that  was  disconcerting.  It  gave  Miss  Busby  a  headache 
and  worried  Mabel  while  she  did  her  sums.  Dingo  was 
the  only  one  who  never  seemed  to  mind,  even  if  it  shook 
him  when  he  was  in  her  lap.  She  was  not  supposed 
to  have  him  in  her  lap  because  he  left  white  hairs  on 
her  black  frock,  but  sometimes  she  spread  a  towel  for 
him  and  let  him  come.  She  had  endless  talks  with  him, 
taking  both  parts  in  different  voices,  and  her  heart  was 
full  of  love  for  him  in  these  days  when  there  was  no 
one  else  to  love.  The  shape  of  his  head  gave  her  pleasure, 
and  so  did  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  his  velvety  ears 
and  his  polite  tail  that  would  wag  even  when  he  was 
sleepy  if  he  thought  she  wanted  it  to  wag.  No  one 
knew  it,  but  every  night  when  the  house  was  asleep  he 
got  out  of  his  basket  which  was  in  the  corridor  and  gave 
a  little  scratch  at  Peggy's  door.  She  always  heard  it 
and  let  him  in  very  softly.  He  spent  the  rest  of  the  night 
snuggled  under  the  bedclothes  and  went  back  to  his 
basket  in  the  morning  when  the  housemaid  came  in.  She 
was  a  good-natured  girl  and  did  not  tell  tales:  and  he 
was  so  clever  that  he  knew  he  must  be  in  his  basket  in 
the  early  morning.  It  was  deceitful,  Peggy  knew,  and 
next  time  she  saw  Mr.  Gerard  she  meant  to  ask  him  if 
it  mattered.  The  difficulty  would  be  to  explain  to  Dingo 
if  Mr.  Gerard  said  that  it  did  matter,  and  must  not  go 
on.  But  there  would  be  some  way  out,  and  Mr.  Gerard 
would  find  it :  if  ever  he  came  again.  Peggy  had  written 
to  him  twice  but  he  had  not  answered.  She  hoped  he 
had  not  gone  to  heaven.  She  did  not  ask.  She  never 
spoke  to  her  step-mother  unless  she  was  spoken  to.  But 


124  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

one  cold  afternoon  in  May  Mrs.  Twistleton  found  her 
in  the  hall  putting  a  letter  into  the  plate  where  it  was 
usual  to  put  letters  for  the  post. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  said. 

Peggy  held  out  the  third  letter  she  had  just  written 
to  Victor.  Mrs.  Twistleton  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"He  won't  get  it,"  she  said. 

Peggy  stared  and  did  not  speak.  All  her  spirit  and 
all  her  ideas  seemed  to  desert  her  in  her  step-mother's 
presence,  so  that  she  stood  there  stupefied  and  sulky. 

"Don't  you  know  that  he  has  gone  to  Australia?" 

Peggy  felt  a  queer  little  pain  in  her  heart,  and  did  not 
know  that  she  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet.  She  wanted 
to  ask  whether  he  would  ever  come  back,  but  the  words 
died  on  her  lips.  She  accepted  the  bad  news  as  a  child 
of  her  age  accepts  the  inevitable,  with  despair  and  with- 
out understanding.  There  was  no  one  but  Dingo  now. 
Mr.  Gerard  had  left  her. 

"I  wonder  what  you  write  about?"  said  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton, and  in  the  child's  presence  she  took  the  letter  out 
of  the  envelope.  When  she  had  read  it  she  tore  it  across 
and  threw  it  into  a  waste-paper  basket. 

"What  a  little  viper  you  are!"  she  cried,  seizing  the 
child  and  shaking  her  fiercely.  "Pretending  to  be  ill 
when  there  is  nothing  whatever  the  matter  with  you! 
Go  upstairs  and  stay  there.  Whine  with  the  dog  if  you 
want  to  whine.  You  won't  see  Mr.  Gerard  again." 

Peggy,  dazed  and  violently  shaken,  began  to  cough. 
She  tried  desperately,  to  stop,  and  suffocated  with  the 
effort.  Her  step-mother  gave  her  a  push  towards  the 
stairs,  and  she  fell  at  the  foot  of  the  flight  in  the  hall, 
choked  and  gasping.  Mrs.  Twistleton  went  back  into 
her  own  room  and  shut  the  door.  She  was  furiously 
angry.  Peggy's  letter  had  been  childish  and  impersonal, 
but  every  line  of  it  showed  that  she  was  unhappy.  At 
Grange  she  had  been  happy,  and  she  asked  Mr.  Gerard 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  125 

to  let  her  go  back  there.  She  told  him  that  she  loved 
him  and  wanted  to  see  him.  She  loved  Dingo  too,  she 
said,  but  Dingo  could  not  talk  or  laugh.  Besides,  her 
frocks  were  shorter  than  ever,  and  her  legs  were  always 
cold  and  she  wanted  new  ones  .  .  .  frocks,  not  legs.  She 
was  his  loving  Peggy,  and  she  begged  and  prayed  him 
to  come  soon  or  at  any  rate  to  write  to  her.  P.S. — 
The  new  cook  did  not  like  Dingo  and  Peggy  did  not  like 
her:  so  she  never  went  into  the  kitchen  now  when  she 
was  hungry. 

The  postscript  made  Rhoda  angrier  than  the  rest  of 
the  letter.  It  suggested  the  truth :  that  Peggy  was  being 
deliberately  underfed,  and  the  last  thing  Rhoda  desired 
was  to  have  the  truth  publicly  known.  She  would  not 
admit,  even  to  herself,  that  she  acted  on  any  system  or 
harbored  any  definite  design  against  the  child.  She  held 
her  in  aversion,  partly  because  she  was  sensible  that 
Peggy  detested  her.  They  reacted  on  each  other  evilly 
and  cruelly:  the  child  as  terrified  of  the  woman  as  a 
small  bird  is  of  a  serpent:  and  the  woman  herself  hardly 
able  to  keep  her  hands  off  a  creature  wholly  in  her  power 
and  yet  shrewd  enough  to  take  her  measure.  There  were 
moments  when  she  knew  that  she  ought  to  let  the  child 
go :  that  it  would  have  been  better  for  herself  to  succumb 
to  drink  or  drugs  than  to  the  impulses  of  which  Peggy 
was  the  victim.  But  she  believed  that  she  could  keep 
within  bounds,  or  at  any  rate  within  the  letter  of  the 
law.  Appearances  were  often  in  her  favor.  Peggy  was 
a  troublesome  child,  requiring  discipline.  There  was 
room  for  a  considerable  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the 
best  way  of  treating  difficult  children.  Her  cough  was 
troublesome,  too.  Mabel  and  Miss  Busby  both  com- 
plained of  it,  and  had  been  told  to  send  Peggy  out  of 
the  room  when  it  came  on.  Everyone  was  being  told 
that  the  family  was  going  abroad  this  spring,  partly  for 
Peggy's  sake.  A  warm  place  on  the  Riviera  would 


126  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

soon  set  her  right,  the  doctor  had  said.  But  Rhoda  did 
not  intend  to  go  to  the  Riviera.  There  had  been  con- 
siderable delay  in  securing  a  tenant  on  a  five  years'  lease 
for  the  large,  expensive  house :  so  that  it  would  be  early 
in  June  before  they  got  away.  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  not 
made  up  her  itinerary  yet.  She  wanted  to  see  the  Italian 
towns.  It  annoyed  her  to  hear  other  people  talk  of  them 
while  she  had  not  been  to  them.  Besides,  Peggy's  mother 
lived  in  Italy  and  they  might  easily  come  across  each 
other.  She  dwelt  on  the  idea  and  wondered  what  Daphne 
looked  like  now  and  whether  she  ever  thought  of  her 
child. 

Peggy  had  picked  herself  up  and  gone  back  to  the 
schoolroom  sick  at  heart  and  ill.  One  thought  was  upper- 
most in  her  mind.  She  would  never  see  Mr.  Gerard 
again,  and  he  had  gone  without  writing  to  her  or  bidding 
her  good-by.  It  must  be  true  because  he  had  not  written. 
They  were  all  going  away  too  before  long,  and  he  would 
not  know  what  had  become  of  her.  They  were  going 
to  Italy.  Miss  Busby  said  so,  and  she  harped  on  Peggy's 
luck  and  the  gratitude  she  ought  to  feel.  Whenever  she 
did  not  get  on  well  with  her  lessons  she  was  told  that 
she  did  not  deserve  to  go  to  Italy,  and  when  she  coughed 
she  was  reminded  that  she  must  not  make  a  noise  like 
that  in  trains  and  hotels.  Miss  Busby  had  finished  her 
pink  jumper  and  was  beginning  a  new  blue  one.  She 
was  having  a  serge  coat  and  skirt  made  in  Manchester 
and  a  new  cotton  frock  in  Senwick.  Mabel  was  excited 
about  her  clothes  too,  and  was  going  out  of  mourning. 
So  the  black  things  she  had  worn  all  the  winter  were 
to  be  tidied  up  and  altered  for  Peggy.  In  the  schoolroom 
after  lessons  nothing  was  talked  of  now  but  clothes  and 
Italy:  and  Miss  Busby  was  trying  to  teach  herself  a  little 
Italian,  because,  she  said,  it  might  come  in  useful  if  they 
were  suddenly  surrounded  by  bandits. 
"What  are  bandits?"  asked  Peggy. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  127 

"Robbers  with  long  mustaches  and  short  cloaks :  and 
with  knives  and  revolvers  stuck  in  their  belts.  They  seize 
you  when  you  are  out  for  a  walk  and  keep  you  in  a 
mountain  fastness  till  your  friends  pay  a  ransom." 

"What  happens  if  you  have  no  friends?" 

"They  kill  you." 

Peggy  did  not  feel  as  much  frightened  as  she  would 
have  done  formerly  by  such  a  picture :  chiefly  because 
her  vitality  was  at  a  lower  ebb.  When  your  head  aches 
and  your  cough  hurts  you  and  leaves  you  bruised  and 
weak  you  do  not  care  what  happens  in  a  mountain  fast- 
ness in  a  foreign  land,  even  if  you  yourself  are  soon 
going  there.  You  are  absorbed  by  your  bodily  sensations 
and  dully  miserable.  Besides,  it  was  possible  that  bandits 
were  not  as  black  as  they  were  painted.  They  might 
turn  out  like  Robin  Hood.  As  long  as  they  did  not 
kill  Dingo  ...  a  new  unbearable  idea  swept  every  other 
from  Peggy's  mind. 

"Shall  I  be  able  to  take  Dingo  to  Italy?"  she  asked. 

Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  both  laughed  at  her.  How 
silly  she  was !  Mrs.  Twistleton  would  not  have  the  dog 
in  the  same  room  with  her.  Was  it  likely  that  she  would 
be  burdened  with  him  on  a  journey?  Besides,  dogs  were 
not  easily  conveyed  from  one  country  to  another.  There 
were  questions  of  quarantine.  Miss  Busby  could  tell 
Peggy  what  the  word  meant  but  not  how  it  was  enforced 
in  the  current  year.  It  did  not  matter.  She  might  be 
sure  that,  irrespective  of  quarantine,  Dingo  would  be 
left  behind. 

"Could  I  be  left  behind?"  said  Peggy. 

"Not  if  you  are  good,"  said  Miss  Busby  perfunctorily. 
She  was  thinking  about  the  blue  jumper  and  wondering 
whether  she  should  start  a  green  one  when  it  was  finished. 
She  might  take  some  wool  with  her.  She  had  never 
traveled  and  did  not  know  what  hotel  life  would  be  like. 
Would  she  have  time  on  her  hands,  or  would  she  "mix 


128  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

in  society"  more  than  she  did  at  Beda  Close,  where  she 
was  comfortable  but  lonely?  Even  if  she  only  found 
another  governess  to  make  friends  with  it  would  be 
cheering:  and  there  might  be  various  people  .  .  .  men 
as  well  as  women,  on  expeditions  and  in  gardens  and 
galleries  .  .  .  opportunities,  in  short,  that  were  denied 
to  her  at  home.  No  doubt  Mrs.  Twistleton  would  be 
exacting  and  inconsiderate,  but.  ....  She  did  not  know 
exactly  where  they  were  going.  Mrs.  Twistleton,  who 
hardly  ever  spoke  to  her  except  to  give  orders,  had  not 
told  her.  The  journey  presented  itself  to  her  mind 
vaguely  as  a  continental  trip,  an  experience  of  varying 
values.  Even  if  she  did  not  enjoy  it  much  she  could 
talk  about  it,  and  probably  she  would  enjoy  some  things. 
She  wished  that  Peggy  could  have  been  left  behind.  It 
had  been  comfortable  in  the  schoolroom  while  Peggy  was 
ill  and  away.  She  did  not  dislike  the  child,  but  she  dis- 
liked the  wear  and  tear  of  her  cough.  Besides,  it  was 
unpleasant  to  see  her  treated  badly  and  impossible  to 
interfere.  If  she  had  tried  to  interfere  she  would  have 
been  sent  away,  like  Mrs.  Butterfield,  and  that  had  done 
Peggy  no  good.  Mabel  had  told  Miss  Busby  everything 
that  Ada  Dixon  had  said,  and  it  showed  what  the  servants 
in  the  house  and  out  of  it  were  saying  to  each  other. 
Perhaps  that  was  why  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  decided  to 
let  the  house  and  go  abroad.  She  would  not  want  a 
scandal.  Miss  Busby  hoped  that  the  publicity  of  life 
when  traveling  would  act  as  a  check:  but  she  did  not 
feel  certain.  Besides,  Peggy  was  often  to  blame.  In- 
deed, it  seemed  as  if  a  very  devil  of  naughtiness  pos- 
sessed the  child  for  the  next  week  or  two.  She  did 
everything  that  she  ought  not  to  have  done  and  nothing 
that  was  expected  of  her.  She  did  heinous  things  so 
that  Mabel  looked  on  amazed  and  Miss  Busby  scolded 
till  she  was  hoarse.  Her  lessons  were  never  prepared, 
her  hair  was  never  tidy.  She  chattered  when  she  should 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  129 

have  been  silent,  she  banged  doors,  she  was  pert.  One 
day  she  put  out  her  tongue  at  Miss  Busby.  She  was 
impishly  rude  to  Mabel  and,  as  if  she  asked  for  punish- 
ment, upset  the  ink  over  one  of  her  step-sister's  new 
frocks.  The  punishment  was  administered,  as  she  might 
have  known  it  would  be,  by  Mrs.  Twistleton  herself. 
When  it  was  over  she  tore  through  the  schoolroom  like 
a  fury,  with  two  pink  patches  on  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
heavy  with  tears,  and  coughing  as  she  ran.  She  wore 
neither  a  hat  nor  a  coat,  but  she  called  to  Dingo  and 
he  followed  her.  Mabel  tried  to  intercept  her  and  re- 
ceived a  shove  that  would  have  upset  her  if  she  had  been 
less  solid.  Miss  Busby  wondered  what  was  going  to 
happen  next  and  went  to  the  window  to  see.  An  in- 
coherent exclamation  of  amazement  and  dismay  soon 
called  Mabel  to  her  side. 

"She  is  like  a  mad  thing,"  said  Miss  Busby  helplessly. 
"What  is  to  be  done?" 

For,  just  as  if  Peggy  really  had  gone  mad  for  the 
moment,  she  was  dancing  round  a  bed  of  tulips  and 
inciting  Dingo  to  tear  through  them.  Their  brittle  stalks 
and  broad  leaves  lay  in  ruin  in  his  wake,  and  still  Peggy 
capered  and  called  to  him.  They  could  hear  her  as  well 
as  see  her,  for  Miss  Busby  had  thrown  open  a  window 
and  was  trying  to  attract  her  attention.  But  while  she 
did  so  a  shot  from  a  rifle  startled  her.  She  looked  at 
Mabel  and  Mabel  looked  at  her.  They  both  felt  sick. 
Dingo  was  only  a  dog,  but  to  have  him  killed  before 
their  eyes !  Besides,  he  was  not  quite  dead.  He  wriggled. 
And  then  Peggy  screamed.  It  was  horrible. 


PART  II 

OUTLAW 
CHAPTER  XVI 

DAPHNE  had  put  off  her  mourning.  The  heat  had 
come  to  Siena  suddenly  this  spring  and  she  startled 
Andrea  Sarzoni  by  coming  into  the  room  in  a 
blue  dress,  the  blue  of  the  Virgin,  but  diaphanous  and 
uncovering  her  lovely  throat.  Never,  never  would  he 
forget  that  moment.  He  could  not  speak  at  first,  but 
gazed  at  her  with  rapt  eyes,  as  if  she  was  music.  He 
had  always  seen  her  in  black,  and  had  associated  her 
with  sorrow.  She  was  alone,  she  was  quiet,  and  the 
expression  of  her  face  was  set  in  sadness  because  she 
had  lost  her  husband  and  her  child.  So  much  he  had 
known  about  her  for  a  long  time,  and  the  other  things  he 
knew  had  grown  into  his  consciousness  gradually  as  he 
gave  her  lessons.  She  loved  music,  and  when  she  was 
playing  or  listening  she  forgot  everything  except  the 
exquisite  joy  of  harmonies.  She  had  a  low,  penetrating 
voice  that  pleased  his  critical  ear,  and  she  had  a  nature 
as  beautiful  as  her  incomparably  beautiful  face.  Her 
beauties,  both  bodily  and  spiritual,  stole  upon  a  man  un- 
awares. They  were  not  for  the  market-place.  He  could 
imagine  that  the  crowd  would  pass  them  by.  But  he 
drank  them  in  as  a  sick  man  drinks  in  sunshine  and 
without  any  hope  of  return ;  he  worshiped  her.  She 
did  not  know  it.  At  least,  she  did  not  know  that  she 
had  become  the  passion  and  the  consolation  of  his  life: 
one  with  his  music,  which,  before  she  came,  had  been 

131 


132  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

his  all.     For  he  had  neither  wife  nor  child,  nor  worldly 
goods  nor  many  friends. 

Daphne  had  been  a  widow  for  nearly  five  years  now. 
Her  second  marriage  had  not  lasted  long.  When  she 
left  Manchester  with  Major  Coverdale  he  had  taken  her 
straight  to  Italy,  had  made  her  his  wife  as  soon  as  the 
law  allowed  and  had  loved  her  to  the  end.  But  the  end 
had  come  quickly.  When  war  broke  out  he  was  recalled 
at  once,  and  died  gallantly  at  Ypres  breathing  her  name 
as  he  died.  She  got  the  news  of  his  death  in  Rome  and 
stayed  on  there,  partly  from  the  inertia  that  sometimes 
accompanies  grief,  and  partly  because  she  did  not  know 
where  else  to  go.  She  found  that  Major  Coverdale  had 
left  her  everything  he  had  and  that  she  would  have 
enough  and  to  spare  in  future.  At  first,  the  lawyers' 
letters  explaining  her  position  amazed  and  troubled  her. 
She  had  never  owned  and  handled  money :  she  had  never 
been  an  independent  woman,  and  as  she  had  been  at- 
tached to  the  dead  man  it  distressed  her  to  stand  in  his 
shoes.  Then,  when  Italy  entered  into  the  war,  she  found 
work  to  do  and  opportunities  of  using  money  that  made 
her  thankful  to  possess  it.  She  had  spared  neither  her 
strength  nor  her  resources,  and  when  peace  came  she 
felt  worn  out  and  old.  Rome  tired  her.  England  did 
not  call  her  yet.  Almost  by  chance  she  drifted  to  Siena 
and  stayed  on  there  because  it  gave  her  rest.  She  took 
a  small  flat,  furnished  it  simply,  and  expected  to  run 
out  her  days  there:  for  she  had  forgotten  that  she  was 
young.  She  made  one  or  two  friends,  but  not  many. 
The  everlasting  procession  of  English  and  American 
tourists  passing  through  Siena  never  got  to  know  her. 
She  shrank  from  her  countryfolk  and  from  her  kinsmen 
across  the  seas  because  her  own  history  weighed  on  her 
mind.  She  could  never  tell  which  of  them  would  shrink 
from  her  when  they  knew  that  she  was  a  divorced  wife 
and  the  mother  of  a  child  she  might  not  see.  Soon  after 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  133 

her  flight  from  Manchester,  and  before  her  second  mar- 
riage, she  had  had  encounters  that  still  scarred  her 
memory.  So  she  lived  apart  with  her  music  and  her 
books,  mourning  for  her  lover  and  her  child.  The  ex- 
pression of  her  face  was  wistful,  as  if  she  was  seeking 
and  could  not  find.  Her  mouth  had  appeal  in  its  gentle 
lines.  "She  is  like  my  Madonna,"  thought  Andrea,  "my 
own  Madonna,  who  is  the  most  beautiful  Madonna  in 
the  world:  but  she  would  not  look  so  sad  if  she  could 
carry  her  child  in  her  arms." 

He  forgot  that  ten  years  had  passed  since  Daphne's 
child  had  been  born,  and  when  he  thought  of  her  sorrow 
he  pictured  her  with  the  baby  girl  she  had  told  him  of 
and  described.  She  had  never  spoken  of  Peggy  to  any- 
one else  because  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  do 
so  without  telling  her  own  story.  But  one  day  she  had 
met  Andrea  in  the  gallery — that  was  the  home  of  his 
Madonna — and  they  had  looked  at  her  together  for  a 
long  time.  Then  with  the  simplicity  of  statement  and 
allusion  that  was  natural  to  him  he  had  said  to  Daphne: 

"You  would  look  down  at  your  child  as  she  does.  You 
are  like  her.  But  you  have  no  child." 

And  Daphne  answered  him,  "I  have  a  child." 

The  trouble  in  her  voice  and  eyes  had  warned  him 
that  he  was  on  difficult  ground  and  he  had  said  no  more. 
But  one  day  when  they  were  sitting  together  after  a 
lesson  she  had  told  him  why  she  was  separated  from  her 
child  and  how  badly  she  wanted  her. 

"When  people  die  you  cannot  trouble  about  them," 
she  said.  "It  is  not  in  your  hands.  You  grieve,  but 
you  believe  it  is  well.  But  a  child  ...  a  little  living 
child  .  .  .  how  am  I  to  know  that  she  is  well  and  happy 
.  .  .  that  she  is  brought  up  as  she  should  be?  Besides, 
I  want  her  ...  I  want  her  more  than  anything  in  the 
world.  I  dream  that  her  arms  are  round  my  neck.  She 
used  to  sit  in  my  lap  and  I  sang  her  to  sleep.  Every 


134  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

night  I  used  to  bathe  her  myself.  There  were  dear  little 
creases  in  her  arms  and  legs  and  her  hair  shone  like 
copper.  If  I  thought  I  could  see  her  I  would  go  to 
England  and  wait  in  the  road  till  she  passed  by.  Some- 
times I  think  I  will.  Perhaps  she  has  forgotten  me.  But 
if  I  could  only  see  her.  .  .  ." 

So,  henceforward,  Andrea  knew  why  Daphne  was  sad 
and  lonely,  although  she  possessed  so  much  that  the 
world  prizes:  and  as  their  friendship  grew  he  came  to 
understand  more  and  more  about  the  simplicity  and 
tenderness  of  her  nature  and  to  wish  that  some  sudden 
turn  of  fate  would  give  her  back  her  child.  He  was 
not  a  fortunate  man  himself  from  the  outside  point  of 
view.  He  earned  his  bread  by  giving  lessons,  and  it  was 
hardly  earned :  for  his  temper  was  quick  and  most  of 
his  pupils  incapable.  He  was  grotesque  to  look  at :  under- 
sized and  with  one  shoulder  higher  than  the  other.  His 
eyes  were  sorrowful  and  kind  when  he  was  not  playing: 
eyes  you  often  see  in  Tuscan  faces.  But  when  he  took 
up  his  violin  they  became  rapt.  You  knew  then  that 
he  was  too  happy  in  his  music  to  be  reckoned  an  unhappy 
man :  and  that  in  spite  of  his  poverty  he  must  have  the 
force  of  character  that  inspires  work  and  grows  with  it. 
For  no  one  could  play  as  he  did  who  had  not  worked: 
and  no  weakling  work  steadily.  Do  not,  therefore,  see 
him  as  a  sentimental  creature,  dissolving  in  a  hopeless 
passion:  soft  and  tiresome.  It  was  the  manhood  in  him 
that  was  stirred  by  Daphne.  He  fumed  and  fretted  be- 
cause he  could  not  get  her  the  moon  if  she  wanted  it: 
and  came  to  such  a  pass  for  her  sake  that  he  began  to 
ask  himself  why  in  the  world  he  sat  here  doing  nothing. 

When  she  came  into  the  room  in  her  blue  dress  his 
heart  leapt  against  his  side  and  at  first  he  did  not  speak. 
She  was  as  beautiful  as  a  flower,  and  she  looked  happier 
than  usual  to-day  because  the  summer  had  come,  and 
because,  at  last,  she  had  put  off  her  mourning.  She 


LAW  AND   OUTLAW  135 

came  in  with  a  little  hurry  of  movement  that  he  had  not 
often  seen  in  her:  and  when  she  smiled  he  could  imagine 
what  her  April  face  must  have  been  before  shame  and 
sorrow  clouded  it.  She  sat  down  at  once  to  the  piano 
and  they  began  to  play.  If  her  playing  did  not  please 
him  he  stopped  her  and  they  took  the  passage  over  and 
over  again.  This  happened  several  times  to-day  with 
the  first  movement  of  the  Kreutzer  Sonata,  which  she  had 
practiced  by  herself  but  not  with  him.  He  was  incom- 
parably the  finer  musician  of  the  two,  but  she  had  sym- 
pathy and  patience.  She  was  never  slovenly  or  facile, 
and  he  knew  that  music  stirred  her  to  the  depths.  So 
he  was  never  tired  of  playing  with  her,  and  the  lesson 
always  prolonged  itself  far  beyond  its  supposed  limit  of 
an  hour.  On  this  account  he  gave  her  the  last  lesson  in 
the  day,  when  he  was  not  obliged  to  go  on  to  other  pupils, 
and  so,  lately,  she  had  often  asked  him  to  stay  and  dine 
with  her.  When  he  did  this  they  played  again  after 
dinner  and  late  into  the  night.  She  spoke  Italian  fluently 
and  well,  and  they  had  long  talks  when  they  were  not 
playing :  talks  about  music  and  musicians,  about  the  books 
she  read  or  sometimes  more  intimate  talks  about  them- 
selves. He  had  never  been  so  happy  or  so  much  at  ease 
in  his  life  as  in  her  company.  Her  dainty  surroundings 
gave  him  pleasure  and,  as  he  was  very  human,  so  did 
her  dinners,  which  had  the  excellence  that  seems  simple 
and  is  costly.  At  least,  everything  she  had  was  costly 
compared  with  what  he  could  buy  in  these  hard  times. 
A  roast  chicken  and  that  curious  sauce  made  of  bread 
that  the  English  like  and  that  she  had  taught  her  cook 
how  to  make:  and  with  the  chicken,  peas  and  new  pota- 
toes :  and  before  the  chicken  asparagus,  and  after  it  great 
juicy  cherries :  and  a  flask  of  good  Chianti !  He  did  not 
keep  house  but  he  knew  what  such  things  cost.  She 
gave  him  a  cup  of  strong  black  coffee  after  his  dinner, 
too,  though  she  did  not  drink  it  herself  and  said  it  was 


136  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

bad  for  him:  and  a  little  glass  of  Benedictine  because 
he  had  once  said  that  he  liked  it.  A  woman  who  had 
two  sides  to  her:  one,  with  music,  in  the  skies:  and 
one  on  earth,  liking  to  pet  people  and  give  them  the 
little  earthly  comforts  that  affect  the  body  and,  by  way 
of  the  body,  the  soul.  She  should  have  been  the  mother 
of  children.  She  should  be  restored  to  her  child. 

This  evening,  after  dinner,  they  sat  out  for  a  time  in 
the  little  garden  that  belonged  to  her  flat  and  was  high 
above  the  street.  For,  as  Siena  is  built  on  three  steep 
hills,  you  find  these  little  gardens  at  various  heights,  and 
you  can  look  up  at  them  from  the  parched  stony  ways 
in  which  you  walk  below.  Daphne's  garden  had  a  big 
cherry-tree  in  it,  heavy  with  fruit;  a  lemon  and  a  fig 
against  a  wall ;  a  pear-tree  that  had  set  its  fruit  already ; 
a  Paulonia  on  which  there  had  been  a  cloud  of  ethereal 
mauve  flowers  in  April ;  the  usual  big  palms,  some  yuccas, 
and  in  between  a  little  unkempt  grass.  Some  of  the 
plants  were  in  big  tubs,  but  the  trees  thrust  their  roots 
into  the  red  soil  of  the  city  and  prospered.  A  half -moon 
shone  on  them  to-night,  and  the  little  breeze  that  blew 
to  them  from  the  hills  was  bland  and  warm. 

"It  is  a  paradise,"  said  Andrea. 

It  was:  but  Daphne's  heart  was  in  England  to-night. 
Ten  days  of  steady,  relentless  heat  had  set  her  thoughts 
running  on  English  seas  breaking  on  English  shores,  on 
the  scent  of  seaweed  and  salt  spray  and  on  a  wind  that 
had  a  bite  in  it.  For  nearly  six  years  she  had  been  an 
exile,  and  she  expected  to  live  and  die  one.  But  every 
now  and  then  some  memory  or  some  poignant  contract 
would  make  her  home-sick.  If  she  could  have  gone  with 
Peggy 

Up  the  beach  by  the  sandy  down 
Where  the  sea-stocks  bloom,  to  the  white-walled  town. 
Through  the  narrow  paved  streets,  where  all  was  still, 
To  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  hill. 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  137 

"But  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  said.  "I  want  my 
child." 

"Could  you  have  her  if  you  went  home?" 

Daphne  shook  her  head  and  smiled  slightly  as  she 
looked  down  at  her  lap  which  was  encircled  by  her 
arms:  for  her  hands  were  clasped  upon  her  knees.  She 
saw  her  baby  sitting  there  and  looking  up  at  her  face  as 
the  bambino  in  his  picture  looked  up  at  his  Madonna. 
Andrea  knew  what  was  in  her  mind. 

"There  is  a  well-known  English  story  of  a  mother 
who  .  .  .  who  lost  her  children  as  I  lost  my  child.  .  .  . 
Not  in  the  same  way  ...  I  would  not  have  left  my 
child  for  anyone  in  the  world.  .  .  .  How  can  any  woman  ? 
But  it  happened,  and  she  went  back  into  the  house 
disguised  as  an  old  woman  and  was  governess  to  her 
own  children.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  if  I  could 
do  that.  .  .  ." 

"A  very  evil  idea,"  said  Andrea  firmly.  "Most  incon- 
venient and  disagreeable  for  you.  If  you  want  your 
child  you  must  have  her:  but  she  must  come  here." 

"That,"  said  Daphne  with  a  sigh,  "that  is  impossible." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Andrea.  "Some  things  are  impos- 
sible: but  to  bring  a  child  from  England  to  Italy  is 
easy." 

"She  would  not  be  allowed  to  come." 

"Many  things  are  done  every  day  that  are  not  allowed." 

"I  cannot  set  myself  against  the  law  .  .  .  that  I  have 
offended.  You  might  as  well  set  a  fly  to  wreck  the 
Dnomo.  English  law  is  hard  and  strong." 

"Then  don't  try  to  fight  it.    Ignore  it." 

"How  can  I?" 

"Take  what  is  yours.     Nature  is  stronger  than  law." 

"I  would  if  I  could,"  said  Daphne. 

"You  want  her  much  .  .  .  very  much?" 

"More  than  anything  in  the  world." 

"Does  she  know  it?    Do  you  write  to  her?" 


138  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

Daphne's  eyes  widened  with  surprise  and  had  bitter 
lights  in  them  that  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"I  am  not  allowed  to  write,"  she  said.  "I  am  not 
allowed  to  see  her  or  even  to  know  that  she  is  well  and 
happy.  My  husband  married  a  woman  I  distrust  and 
dislike.  He  is  dead  now  and  my  child  is  in  her  power. 
I  daren't  think  of  it  much.  If  I  did  I  should  go  crazy. 
I  once  saw  that  woman  beat  her  own  child  in  a  fit  of 
rage.  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

Daphne  had  turned  sick  and  white  with  the  stress  of 
what  she  was  saying  and  with  the  horror  of  that  memory. 

"Think  not  of  such  wickedness,"  said  Andrea  with  a 
shudder.  "A  woman  who  is  cruel  to  a  child  must  be  a 
devil.  Che  Iddio  la  castighi!  but  you  must  have  your 
bambina." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

ANDREA  SARZONI  prided  himself  on  being  a  man 
of  action.  When  he  had  made  up  his  mind  he 
went  to  work.  He  had  saved  a  little  money,  he 
had  certain  influential  friends,  and  he  wanted  to  see 
Daphne  with  her  child  in  her  arms.  It  was  always  the 
finished  picture  that  prevailed  in  his  mind  and  not  the 
intermediate  steps  to  it.  Daphne  could  not  be  happy 
because  she  was  separated  from  her  child,  and  there 
was  nothing  in  the  world  that  mattered  so  much  to 
Andrea  as  her  happiness.  Evidently,  then,  he  must  go 
to  England  and  get  the  child  for  her.  It  was  awkward. 
Decidedly  it  was  awkward.  He  spoke  a  little  English, 
but  not  much.  He  knew  the  child's  name  and  address, 
but  little  else  about  her.  There  would  be  difficulties. 
There  might  be  failure.  In  that  case  Daphne  would  be 
no  worse  off  than  before:  while  if  he  succeeded!  The 
picture  of  her  with  her  baby  on  her  lap  dazzled  him. 

"But  the  child  must  be  ten  years  old !"  he  cried,  and 
was  pleased  with  himself  for  thinking  of  it.  But  he  had 
always  been  a  practical  man,  methodical  and  energetic. 
He  was  not  embarking  on  an  absurd,  romantic  adven- 
ture. Far  from  it.  He  did  not  rush  off  headlong  as 
your  young  fool  would  have  done.  In  silence,  and  with 
great  care,  he  made  his  preparations.  The  English 
climate  was  cold  and  wet.  Everyone  knew  it.  He  bought 
a  warm  traveling- rug,  packed  his  winter  clothes  and 
ordered  a  new  pair  of  strong  boots.  He  secured  his 
passport.  He  took  his  ticket  to  London  and  two  letters 
of  introduction,  one  to  a  highly-placed  person  in  the 
Italian  Embassy  who  would  help  him  with  his  passport 
on  his  return,  and  one  to  the  proprietor  of  a  small 


I4o  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

restaurant  in  Soho  who  would  either  put  him  up  or  tell 
him  where  to  lodge  cheaply.  It  would  be  an  expensive 
business,  and  sometimes  the  little  devil  of  doubt  who 
stops  enterprise  would  whisper  in  his  ear  that  he  was 
going  to  be  a  fool  for  his  pains.  Money  as  hardly  and 
slowly  earned  as  his  should  not  be  spent  lightly:  dis- 
sipated in  a  quest  that  it  was  not  his  business  to  under- 
take. But  then  perhaps  he  would  see  Daphne  again  and 
be  reminded  of  her  empty  days  by  some  word  she  spoke, 
or  even  by  some  turn  of  her  head  or  glance  of  her  eyes. 
To  think  that  she  should  be  as  lonely  as  he  was  himself ! 
He  was  a  man  and  could  bear  it:  and  for  him  it  was 
bad  enough  at  times.  Besides,  his  music  was  more  to 
him  than  music  could  ever  be  to  her.  Also,  he  was 
getting  old  and  he  was  ugly.  To  see  a  woman  as  young 
and  lovely  as  Daphne  with  that  wistful  look  in  her  eyes 
and  about  her  mouth  stirred  every  tender  impulse  that 
his  maimed  life  left  unsatisfied.  She  could  never  give 
him  her  adorable  self  because  he  was  old  and  poor  and 
ugly:  but  if  he  could  give  her  her  child  she  would  be 
happy  and  it  would  rejoice  him  to  see  it.  He  would  be 
a  friend  to  the  child  too.  So  he  dreamed  and  planned, 
the  quixotic  little  man :  and  when  the  time  came  set 
out  for  the  unknown,  having  told  his  pupils  that  he  was 
taking  a  fortnight's  holiday.  He  did  not  say  a  word  to 
Daphne,  but  dined  with  her  the  night  before  he  started 
and  astutely  led  their  talk  after  dinner  to  the  north  of 
England,  and  to  her  first  husband's  home  there.  When 
she  spoke  of  it  by  name  he  said  he  could  not  follow  her 
and  asked  her  to  write  down  the  name  for  him.  Then 
he  tried  to  pronounce  the  name  after  her,  but  the  scrap 
of  paper  on  which  she  wrote  it  he  put  in  his  pocket. 

He  got  to  London  easily,  found  his  compatriots  in 
Soho  and  saw  the  personage  at  the  Italian  Embassy,  who 
received  him  graciously.  In  Tuscany  Andrea  had  a  re- 
spected and  well-known  name  as  a  musician,  and  when 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  141 

he  explained  that  he  had  come  partly  on  business  con- 
nected with  concerts  in  London  there  seemed  no  reason 
to  doubt  him.  When  he  showed  his  passport  and  said 
that  on  his  return  journey  he  would  possibly  have  a  child 
of  ten  with  him  who  had  lost  her  father  and  was  going 
to  a  relation  in  Siena  the  way  was  easily  made  smooth 
for  him.  The  child  of  ten  was  entered  on  his  passport 
as  his  traveling  companion  in  the  proper  office,  and  noth- 
ing remained  for  him  to  do  after  that  except  to  get  her. 
He  left  London  a  week  after  he  had  left  Siena  and 
traveled  to  Senwick  with  some  maiden  ladies  who  prided 
themselves  on  their  perspicacity  and  took  him  for  an 
anarchist  of  the  most  dangerous  kind.  He  looked  like 
it  to  them.  His  long,  curly  hair,  his  deformed  shoulder, 
his  brigand's  cloak  with  its  astrakhan  collar,  his  rapt 
eyes,  his  incomprehensible  English,  and  the  cheap  suit- 
case he  carried,  as  well  as  his  violin,  all  made  them 
uncomfortable,  and  so  did  some  sandwiches  wrapped 
in  newspaper  and  made  with  sausage  flavored  strongly 
with  garlic  that  he  ate  for  his  lunch.  Their  sandwiches 
were  wrapped  in  white  paper  and  flavored  with  nothing 
at  all,  and  they  drank  hot  tea  out  of  a  Thermos  flask. 
In  the  tunnels  they  sat  bolt  upright  and  on  the  alert 
for  the  least  movement  on  Andrea's  part,  for  though 
it  was  a  corridor  train  and  therefore  comparatively  safe, 
he  might  be  going  to  blow  up  the  train  or  creep  out  of 
the  compartment  and  stab  his  victim.  One  never  knew 
with  these  people.  However,  the  day  passed  and  nothing 
worse  happened  than  the  pervasive  smell  of  garlic  at 
lunch-time :  and  by  degrees  the  elder  lady,  watching  him 
whenever  he  shut  his  eyes,  decided  that  he  had  a  harmless 
face  and  was  probably  a  musician  on  his  way  to  some 
little  post  in  an  orchestra.  He  did  not  look  to  her  pros- 
perous enough  for  anything  better  than  an  orchestra. 
Just  before  they  reached  Senwick,  having  ransacked  her 
memory  for  one  or  two  phrases  learned  long  ago  at 


142  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

school,  she  asked  him  if  he  was  Italian,  and  was  an- 
swered by  a  flood  of  words  in  a  language  she  did  not 
understand.  Still,  she  made  out  the  word  "Siena"  several 
times,  and  when  he  stopped  talking  she  pointed  her  finger 
at  him  and  said  "Siena"  in  an  interrogative  voice  while 
her  weaker-minded  sister  gaped  at  her  courage  and  her 
intelligence.  It  was  just  like  Sophia  Pinkney  to  be  talk- 
ing Italian  to  an  unknown  foreign  anarchist  and  asking 
him  his  business.  For  Sophia  was  now  pointing  to  the 
violin  and  saying  "musica"  in  a  loud  clear  voice:  and 
the  queer  little  man  was  looking  at  her  with  the  grateful 
eyes  of  a  dog  and  chattering  some  tongue  that  was  not 
in  the  least  like  the  three  Italian  songs  she,  Agatha,  had 
learnt  in  her  youth.  However,  he  was  assiduous  in 
assisting  them  with  their  hand  luggage  when  they  reached 
Senwirk,  and  to  their  surprise  descended  there  himself. 
They  had  a  fly  waiting  for  them  and  drove  off  rather 
hurriedly,  leaving  him  looking  rather  desolate  just  out- 
side the  station.  But  they  did  not  wish  to  pursue  the 
acquaintance. 

Andrea  had  no  Italian  friends  in  Senwick,  but  he 
found  a  humble-looking  little  inn,  secured  supper  and  a 
bedroom  there,  and  next  day  managed  to  make  the  land- 
lord understand  that  he  wanted  to  get  to  Beda  Close 
on  Hallinwater.  He  knew  his  own  lakes  and  he  had 
bought  a  map  of  the  English  ones  in  London,  so  he 
was  able  to  point  when  he  could  not  explain.  The  land- 
lord sent  his  little  boy  to  put  the  foreigner  on  the  coach ; 
from  the  coach  Andrea  got  to  the  steamer,  and  on  the 
steamer  he  saw  the  two  ladies  he  had  traveled  with 
yesterday.  To  their  horror  he  approached  them  and  took 
off  his  hat:  which  showed  that  he  was  no  gentleman 
and  pushing:  and  to  their  amazement  he  asked  them 
if  they  knew  a  house  called  Beda  Close.  Certainly  they 
knew  it.  They  had  been  at  Mrs.  Twistleton's  party  in 
the  summer  when  poor  Mr.  Twistleton  looked  so  ill  and 


LAW  AND   OUTLAW  143 

• 

when  that  queer,  unkempt  step-child  had  made  an  un- 
pleasant impression  by  rushing  across  the  lawn,  wet 
through,  in  pursuit  of  the  dog  that  killed  the  cat.  But 
what  could  this  wandering  Italian  have  to  do  there,  unless 
he  was  going  to  tune  the  pianos,  or  regulate  the  clocks  ? 
— which  was  unlikely.  Sophia  answered  freezingly  that 
the  house  was  not  in  sight  yet,  and  though  Andrea  did 
not  understand  what  she  said,  he  easily  understood  that 
he  was  not  wanted.  So  he  sat  down  a  good  way  off, 
looked  at  the  scenery  and  thought  about  Daphne.  Now 
that  his  quest  was  near  its  end  fulfillment  looked  less 
possible  than  ever.  The  steamer  passed  large  houses 
set  in  woods  and  gardens.  How  was  he  to  approach  the 
one  he  wanted,  the  locked  casket  holding  Daphne's  jewel? 
Would  she  be  guarded  by  dragons  like  those  two  who 
had  just  snubbed  him:  women  of  a  certain  age,  with 
enormous  teeth,  and  dressed  to  frighten  rather  than  to 
charm?  It  was  a  type  well  known  to  Andrea.  It  was 
to  be  seen  any  day  in  Siena  carrying  a  red  Baedeker 
and  gazing  earnestly  at  this  and  that  in  the  streets  and 
churches.  When  they  had  hard  chins  and  high  voices 
and  were  well  dressed  they  were  Americans:  but  they 
were  all  earnest.  Some  were  amiable:  some  were  dis- 
agreeable like  the  two  scarecrows  opposite.  One  of  them 
was  making  signs  to  him.  What  did  she  want?  He 
crossed  over  and  she  flapped  a  gloved,  bony  hand  at  a 
large  house  'on  the  left-hand  shore  of  the  lake. 

"That,"  she  said,  "is  Beda  Close.  You  must  get  out 
here  if  you  want  to  go  there." 

Then,  by  turning  to  her  sister,  she  intimated  that  she 
had  nothing  more  to  say  to  Andrea,  and  he,  after  lifting 
his  hat  to  her  politely,  picked  up  his  violin  and  went 
ashore.  But  before  landing  he  managed  to  make  out  that 
the  steamer  would  call  there  on  its  return  journey  at 
six  o'clock.  So  he  had  three  hours  before  him.  No 
one  else  had  got  off  the  steamer  when  he  did,  and  he 


144  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

found  himself  quite  alone  in  a  country  road.  He  walked 
on  until  he  came  to  a  gate  opening  into  a  private  drive, 
but  there  was  no  name  to  it  so  he  could  not  be  sure  that 
it  led  to  the  house  he  wanted.  As  he  had  plenty  of  time 
before  him  he  opened  it  and  walked  on.  He  had  no 
definite  plan.  If  he  could  find  out  where  Peggy  lived 
and  gain  speech  of  her  it  would  be  something.  Even  if 
he  had  to  go  back  without  her  he  would  be  able  to  give 
Daphne  a  message  and  a  picture :  more  than  she  had 
had  for  years.  It  was  very  quiet  in  this  garden.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  one  about.  How  orderly  it  was  and 
how  spacious !  Trees  and  shrubs  grew  on  either  side  as 
if  they  liked  the  climate.  Some  of  the  big  fir  trees  he 
knew  because  they  grew  them  in  Siena  on  the  Lizza. 
In  some  places  there  were  primroses.  But  he  saw  no 
cypresses,  no  olives,  and  no  figs  or  palms.  He  missed 
them  and  he  missed  the  sunshine.  All  the  morning  it 
had  rained  and  everything  was  dripping  wet.  Now  it 
was  not  raining,  but  the  skies  were  gray  and  the  wind 
cold.  He  shivered  and  he  felt  hungry.  On  what  a 
fool's  errand  he  had  come,  and  what  a  long  way  he  was 
from  home!  Nevertheless,  his  will  and  his  feet  took 
him  forward  although  his  doubts  and  his  desires  drove 
him  back:  and  after  walking  about  half  a  mile  a  bend 
in  the  drive  brought  him  in  full  view  of  the  house.  It 
was  the  one  the  English  woman  had  shown  him  from  the 
steamer.  It  was  the  home  of  Daphne's  child.  From 
where  he  stood  he  could  see  the  door  which  was  at  one 
end  of  the  house,  and  by  going  on  a  little  he  got  a  side 
view  of  the  front  that  faced  the  lake  and  had  a  lawn  and 
a  flower  garden  going  down  to  the  water. 

"But  it  is  a  paradise,"  the  little  man  said  to  himself 
with  a  sigh.  "When  the  sun  shines  it  must  truly  be  a 
paradise.  I  will  sit  down  here  and  look  at  it.  I  will  sit 
behind  a  big  tree  and  no  one  will  know  I  am  there." 

He  sat  down  behind  a  big  fir  tree  and  ate  the  remains 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  145 

of  yesterday's  sandwiches  which  he  had  brought  with 
him.  Then  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  smoked  it.  If 
he  had  been  in  Italy  he  would  have  felt  sleepy  and  had 
a  nap.  But  it  was  too  chilly  and  uncomfortable  for  that 
in  this  English  garden.  The  house  looked  dead  to  him 
although  some  of  the  windows  were  open.  But  no  sounds 
came  from  it  and  no  one  moved  outside.  Soon  he  would 
have  to  go  back  on  the  steamer  having  done  nothing 
but  stare  like  a  zany  at  a  lifeless  house.  Certainly  he 
could  go  to  the  door,  ring  the  bell,  and  perhaps  on  some 
pretext  get  inside:  or  he  could  look  for  some  of  the  out- 
door servants  and  get  into  communication  with  them. 
Those  were  the  obvious  ways  of  approach,  and  perhaps 
to-morrow.  .  .  . 

The  front  door  was  thrown  open  and  a  small  white 
dog  followed  by  a  child  rushed  down  the  steps  and  into 
the  garden,  both  as  quick  and  as  light  as  straws  in  the 
wind.  The  child  was  thin  and  lanky,  with  short  skirts 
and  red,  ungloved  hands.  She  wore  a  black  tam-o'- 
shanter  crammed  on  her  copper-colored  hair,  and  on  her 
way  she  had  to  stop  for  a  fit  of  coughing.  Then  she 
ran  on  again,  calling  the  dog  as  she  went,  and  to  Andrea's 
amazement  sent  it  through  a  fine  bed  of  tulips  on  the 
lawn.  But  a  naughty  child !  An  evil  child !  Never  had 
he  seen  a  child  behave  in  such  a  manner.  The  beautiful 
flowers  were  being  broken.  Their  stalks  snapped  where 
the  dog  ran,  light  and  quick  though  he  was.  Yet  again 
the  child  ran  round  the  bed  and  even  across  it.  Such 
a  spirit  of  destruction  he  could  not  understand.  From 
where  he  stood  now  he  could  see  her  small  face,  pinched 
and  desperate.  Now  she  stood  still  to  cough  again,  and 
the  dog  stood  still  too,  looking  up  at  her  and  wagging 
his  tail.  As  he  stood  so,  as  Andrea  watched  him,  a  shot 
from  the  house  burst  for  one  startling  moment  into  the 
silence  of  the  afternoon.  The  dog  fell  dead  upon  the 
ground  at  the  feet  of  the  little  girl. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  child  gave  a  cry  that  rent  Andrea's  heart  and 
flung  herself  upon  the  ground  beside  the  dog,  call- 
ing to   it  pitifully.     Andrea  could  not  hear  the 
name  clearly,  and   from   where  he  stood  he  could  not 
make  out  whether  the  dog  had  been  killed  outright  or 
was  still  alive.    He  had  seen  it  give  a  little  leap  into  the 
air  and  then  fall  like  a  stone.    He  expected  the  sound  of 
the  shot  and  of  the  child's  wailing  cry  to  bring  other 
people  on  the  scene,  and  he  knew  that  if  he  was  not  to 
be  discovered  he  ought  to  go  at  once.     But  he  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  to  go.     What  he  had  seen  and  heard 
mystified  him.     The  orderly  garden,  the  quiet,  opulent- 
looking   house,    and    then    as    sudden   as    lightning   this 
tragedy !     Certainly   it   was  only  a   dog  that  had  been 
killed,  and  the  child  was  a  naughty  child,  but  to  see  her 
misery  and  her  tears  was  more  than  Andrea  could  bear. 
If  no  one  came  he  must  try  and  comfort  her,  and  if  she 
was  the  child  he  wanted  he  would  ask  her  to  come  with 
him:   but   he   hoped   she  was  not  that  child.     He  had 
pictured  himself  traveling  back  to  Italy  with  a  little  angel 
of  humility  and  goodness,  clothed  in  immaculate  white 
like  the  summer  children  on  the  Lizza  and  as  easy  to 
manage  as  a  plaster  saint.  This  child,  now  coming  towards 
him,  the  dog  in  her  arms,  her  eyes  blinded  by  tears,  her 
clothes  in  disarray,  was  not  in  the  least  like  the  bambina 
he  wanted  to  place  in  Daphne's  arms.    But  how  the  poor 
creature  coughed!     How  ill  she  looked:  how  thin  and 
miserable !     He  left  the  shelter  of  his  tree,  went  a  little 
way  further  towards  the  house  and  met  the  child  with 
her  dog.    There  was  still  no  one  about. 

146 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  147 

"Peggy !"  he  said  at  a  venture. 

The  child  was  so  surprised  by  his  appearance,  by  his 
oddity,  and  by  the  fact  that  he  knew  her  name  that  for 
a  moment  she  stopped  crying.  He  seemed  to  have  sprung 
out  of  the  earth  in  the  moment  of  her  great  affliction, 
and,  odd-looking  as  he  was,  she  could  see  by  his  eyes 
that  he  was  kind  and  felt  sorry  for  her. 

"He  is  dead!"  she  wailed,  and  flung  herself  on  the 
ground  again  with  the  dog.  "He  doesn't  move.  He 
doesn't  hear  me.  Dingo  .  .  .  Dingo !" 

Andrea  knelt  on  the  ground  too  and  stroked  the  dog's 
head. 

"He  was  very  beautiful,"  he  said.  "He  was  your 
friend?" 

Peggy  had  never  heard  a  foreigner  speak  English  be- 
fore and  she  could  only  just  make  out  what  Andrea  said: 
but  she  was  beginning  to  like  him,  although  his  cloak  and 
his  hair  were  frightening.  She  thought  he  must  be  a 
vagrant  musician,  and  she  wondered  why  he  had  a  violin 
with  him  instead  of  a  barrel-organ. 

"Have  you  got  a  dog  or  a  monkey?"  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head  and  glanced  uneasily  at  the  door  of 
the  house.  He  felt  sure  that  someone  would  come  out 
soon  and  take  Peggy  away  from  him,  and  then  his  whole 
scheme  would  topple  in  ruins  like  a  house  of  cards.  If 
only  he  could  have  picked  her  up  and  carried  her  away ! 
But  that  was  impossible :  and  he  was  as  much  afraid  to 
hurry  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  bird  ready  for  flight  at  the 
least  alarm. 

"I  have  a  cat,"  he  said. 

"Dingo  hated  cats,"  said  Peggy,  beginning  to  sob  again. 
"He  killed  them  if  he  could." 

"E  proprio  verof"  murmured  Andrea,  who  only  half 
followed  what  Peggy  said  and  wanted  to  seize  the  in- 
credible luck  chance  had  put  in  his  way. 

"I    must    fetch    a    spade    and    dig    his    grave,"    said 


148  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

>  * 
> 

Peggy,  her  tears  streaming  down  her  woe-begone  little 
face. 

"I  will  help  you,"  said  Andrea ;  "and  if  you  will  come 
a  long  way  from  the  house  where  no  one  will  hear  us 
I  will  play  a  funeral  march  over  his  grave." 

"On  your  violin?" 

Andrea  nodded. 

"We  will  come  to  Low  Tarn,"  said  Peggy.  "No  one 
will  hear  us  there,"  and  she  led  the  way  through  woods 
to  the  wild  and  lonely  tarn  where  Dingo  had  loved  to 
swim  and  she  to  row.  It  looked  somber  and  desolate 
to-day  and  she  shivered  with  cold  as  they  approached  it. 
A  little  way  back  they  had  passed  a  gardening  shed  with 
tools,  and  first  placing  poor  Dingo  tenderly  on  the  ground 
she  had  gone  in  and  found  a  spade.  The  condition 
she  was  in  distressed  Andrea  terribly.  She  was  breaking 
her  little  heart  over  her  dog  and  her  emaciated  body 
was  shaken  by  her  cough  as  well  as  by  her  sobs.  But 
she  would  not  let  him  carry  the  dog  for  her.  She 
wanted  to  feel  the  soft  fur  of  his  head  against  her  cheek 
from  time  to  time,  and  to  talk  to  him  though  he  could 
not  hear.  When  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  tarn,  and 
stood  amongst  the  tangle  of  dead  bracken  and  springing 
weeds  that  fringed  its  brim,  she  stood  there  for  a  mo- 
ment, looking  silently  at  its  opal  waters,  the  image  of 
despair.  Andrea  guessed  that  she  was  invoking  mem- 
ories in  which  her  dead  playmate  had  a  share  and  did 
not  disturb  her.  When  she  turned  away  to  find  a  place 
amongst  the  trees  for  a  grave  he  followed  her,  and  when 
she  stopped  he  put  down  his  violin,  took  off  his  long 
cloak  and  dug  a  hole  for  her.  Then,  before  putting  the 
dog  in,  he  lined  it  with  leaves  and  little  branches  and 
had  other  leaves  ready  for  a  covering.  He  collected 
them  with  care,  choosing  some  of  last  year's  that  were 
still  golden  and  some  from  the  tips  of  larches  that  were 
a  tender  green :  and  as  he  performed  this  work  of  mercy 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  149 

for  her  the  child  watched  him  in  wonder.  She  saw  that 
he  was  deformed  and  altogether  odd-looking,  but  his 
kindness  was  like  balm.  It  was  a  black  moment  when 
Dingo  had  to  be  lowered  into  the  hole,  but  Andrea  would 
not  spin  it  out.  He  persuaded  the  child  to  let  him  take 
the  dog  from  her,  he  buried  it  slowly,  and  then  taking  his 
violin  from  its  case  he  began  to  play.  While  he  did  so 
his  eyes  were  as  rapt  as  if  he  saw  invisible  choirs  playing 
in  unison  with  him,  and  Peggy,  watching  him,  thought 
that  he  had  forgotten  her  and  Dingo  and  everything 
except  his  music.  She  had  never  heard  such  music  be- 
fore, and  it  was  in  her  as  it  was  in  her  mother  to  be 
affected  by  it.  She  listened  quietly,  and  the  solemn 
strains  of  the  funeral  march  he  chose  stole  upon  her 
spirit  and  gave  it  rest.  When  he  came  to  the  last  chord 
she  sighed. 

"Can  you  come  again  to-morrow  ?"  she  said :  but 
Andrea,  who  was  putting  his  violin  in  its  case,  shook  his 
head. 

"To-morrow  I  shall  be  Jar  away,"  he  said. 

"I  should  like  to  hear  you  play  every  day,"  said  Peggy. 
"I  should  like  to  play  like  that  myself." 

"If  you  will  come  with  me  I  will  teach  you,"  said 
Andrea.  He  wanted  to  say  many  other  things.  He 
wanted  to  ask  her  who  had  killed  her  dog  and  also  to 
tell  her  everything  he  could  about  her  mother,  but  he 
spoke  English  with  difficulty,  and  found  it  easier  to  an- 
swer what  she  said  than  to  introduce  new  subjects. 

"How  can  I  come  with  you?"  said  Peggy,  staring  at 
him:  and  as  she  spoke  she  shivered  with  cold. 

Andrea,  who  had  put  on  his  cloak  again,  sat  down 
beside  her  and  wrapped  some  of  it  round  her  shoulders, 
so  they  sat  there  together  snug  and  friendly. 

"If  you  will  come  with  me  I  shall  take  you  to  your 
mother,"  he  said.  "She  is  my  friend.  Nearly  every  day 
I  am  at  her  house  and  we  play  together." 


150  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"My  mother!"  exclaimed  Peggy.  "Are  you  sure  that 
you  know  my  mother?" 

"Quite  sure.  She  told  me  your  name  and  the  name 
of  this  house,  and  I  have  come  all  the  way  from  Siena 
to  fetch  you.  She  is  unhappy  till  she  has  you  in  her 
arms." 

"I  don't  remember  her  much,"  said  Peggy,  in  great 
doubt  and  uneasiness.  The  man  was  kind,  but  he  was 
odd,  and  suppose  he  carried  her  to  a  cave ! 

But  he  did  not  look  like  that. 

"Should  we  walk  there?"  she  inquired.  "Should  you 
play  the  violin  and  I  go  round  collecting  pennies  ?  Where 
is  Siena?" 

"In  Italy.  Your  mother  lives  there.  She  has  a  garden 
with  a  cherry-tree  in  it.  She  would  let  you  pick  the 
cherries.  You  would  not  shiver  there  or  cough." 

"But  I  am  not  allowed  to  be  with  her,"  she  explained. 
"I  am  obliged  to  live  with  my  step-mother." 

"Do  you  love  her?" 

"I  hate  her,"  cried  Peggy,  her  eyes  gleaming  and  vin- 
dictive. "She  killed  Dingo.  I  never  want  to  see  her 
again." 

"Then  come  with  me.  I  will  take  you  to  your  mother, 
who  is  an  angel." 

"But  I  can't  come  with  you  just  as  I  am." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  must  have  a  trunk  with  clothes.  I  have  a  new  one 
of  my  own  that  I  took  to  Grange." 

"You  talk  folly,  little  one.  If  you  go  back  to  the 
house  for  a  trunk  you  will  never  see  me  again  and  your 
mother  will  cry  every  day  because  she  has  lost  her 
child." 

"Does  she?"  said  Peggy,  much  impressed. 

"Every  day !" 

"Will  she  be  glad  to  see  me  if  I  come?" 

"So  glad  that  every  day  will  be  a  festa.    She  will  give 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  151 

you  cherries  to  eat,  and  pretty  white  frocks  to  wear,  and 
I  will  give  you  my  cat." 

"Dingo  didn't  like  cats,"  said  Peggy.  "I  don't  think 
I  could  make  friends  with  a  cat  just  yet  for  his  sake." 

"Do  you  like  little  green  parrakeets?  There  is  a  girl 
I  often  see  who  has  some  for  sale.  She  carries  them 
about  in  a  wicker  cage.  We  will  go  for  a  walk  together, 
and  when  we  meet  her  we  will  buy  them." 

"If  I  come  with  you,"  said  Peggy  doubtfully.  "I  wish 
Mr.  Gerard  was  here." 

"Who  is  that?" 

"He  is  my  guardian.  He  would  tell  me  what  to  do. 
He  gave  me  Dingo.  But  he  is  in  Australia  and  Dingo 
is  dead.  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

"But  what  a  horror  for  a  child  to  say!  Why  do  you 
say  it?" 

Peggy  began  to  cry  again :  and  then  she  coughed  and 
shivered  all  over  her  body  with  cold.  What  an  uncom- 
fortable country,  thought  Andrea,  where  the  skies  are 
gray  and  the  earth  wet  and  the  children  miserable  and 
thin.  He  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was  time 
to  go. 

"Tell  me  your  name  and  the  name  of  this  house  and 
the  name  of  your  mother,"  he  said,  for  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  had  better  make  sure  of  Peggy  being  the 
right  child.  Yes:  she  was  the  right  child.  She  said  the 
unpronounceable  English  names  as  Daphne  said  them, 
but  she  knew  nothing  about  her  mother  except  what  she 
could  remember. 

"She  wore  a  blue  dress  and  she  took  me  on  her  knee 
and  called  me  her  ladybird  and  her  pigeon,"  said  Peggy. 

"She  wore  a  blue  dress  last  time  I  saw  her,"  said 
Andrea,  whose  arm  was  round  the  child  now,  keeping 
her  warm  within  his  cloak.  "If  you  come  you  shall  soon 
sit  on  her  knee  again." 

"I'm  too  big  now." 


152  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"To  her  you  will  seem  little.  All  these  years  she  has 
loved  you  and  wept  for  you.  Her  beautiful  eyes  are 
worn  with  tears.  Be  kind  to  her.  Come !" 

Peggy  could  not  resist.  With  some  misgivings  but 
with  an  exciting  sense  of  adventure  she  put  her  hand  in 
Andrea's  and  led  him  by  a  short  cut  through  the  woods 
to  the  landing-stage  for  the  steamer.  She  would  have 
liked  to  fetch  her  fur  coat  but  Andrea  would  not  let  her 
risk  it.  He  said  he  would  buy  her  what  she  wanted  next 
day  in  London.  He  seemed  to  be  a  very  nervous  man, 
she  thought.  At  the  least  sound  he  stopped  and  looked 
anxiously  around  him,  and  while  they  waited  for  the 
steamer  he  hid  with  her  in  the  shelter  and  only  emerged 
when  the  one  or  two  passengers  alighting  had  their  backs 
to  him.  Then  he  hurried  her  on  deck  and  down  to  the 
cabin  where  he  said  she  would  be  warmer.  On  the 
coach  he  kept  her  snug  beneath  his  cloak  again.  Peggy 
saw  no  one  she  knew  until  they  were  in  the  main  street 
of  Senwick,  when  she  passed  the  younger  Miss  Pinkney, 
who  stared  at  her  and  seemed  about  to  speak  but  ap- 
parently thought  better  of  it.  Andrea  was  muttering  to 
himself  at  the  time  and  seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry.  At 
his  inn  he  left  her  downstairs  with  a  woman  who  let 
her  sit  by  the  fire  and  gave  her  some  tea  and  bread-and- 
butter  and  hot  buttered  teacake  which  she  enjoyed  very 
much. 

"Wheer  'sta  bahn  wi'  t'furren  gentleman?"  asked  the 
woman,  looking  at  her  curiously. 

"To  Italy,"  said  Peggy. 

"Where's  that?" 

Peggy  could  not  tell  her.  It  was  a  long  way  off,  she 
said,  but  her  mother  lived  there  and  had  sent  the  foreign 
gentleman  to  fetch  her. 

"What's  the  like  o'  he  know  about  childer?"  asked 
the  woman,  with  a  sniff.  "Yer  moother  sud  'a  coom 
hersel',"  and  when  Andrea  appeared  with  his  cheap  suit- 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  153 

case  and  his  violin  in  his  hands  she  told  him  that  Peggy 
was  not  warmly  enough  dressed  for  a  night  journey. 
But  Andrea,  if  he  heard,  did  not  answer.  He  put  some 
money  on  the  table,  took  Peggy  by  one  hand,  and  raced 
through  the  town  so  quickly  that  the  child  began  to  cough 
again. 

"The  train  .  .  .  the  train!"  he  said.  "We  are  late. 
We  must  run." 

It  was  high  time.  As  they  reached  the  platform  the 
guard  put  his  whistle  to  his  lips,  but  opened  a  door 
when  he  saw  Andrea  and  Peggy  tearing  towards  him. 
He  bundled  them  into  an  empty  compartment  as  the 
train  began  to  move  and  thought  no  more  about  them. 
He  took  Andrea  for  a  traveling  musician  and  Peggy  for 
his  child. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

ANDREA  refused  dinner  on  the  train.  He  did  not 
want  to  multiply  the  chances  of  detection  or 
failure.  But  Peggy  told  him  soon  after  they 
started  that  she  was  hungry,  so  by  tipping  the  guard  he 
managed  to  get  a  luncheon-basket  when  they  stopped  at 
Preston  and  a  glass  of  milk  for  the  child.  There  was  no 
one  else  in  their  compartment  and  they  had  a  picnic 
meal  together  that  Peggy  enjoyed.  Andrea  buttered  her 
roll  for  her  and  gave  her  the  wing  of  the  chicken  and  the 
big  orange.  He  ate  what  he  could  of  a  dry-looking  leg 
and  found  that  the  little  orange  was  moldy:  but  he  did 
not  seem  to  mind.  When  they  had  finished  he  wrapped 
her  in  his  cloak,  making  a  pillow  for  her  head  of  some 
of  it,  and  then  he  let  her  lie  at  full  length  on  the  seat 
while  he  sat  up  opposite  and  stared  out  of  the  closed 
window.  Every  now  and  then  she  felt  afraid  of  what 
she  had  done,  and  afraid  of  him  because  he  was  so  queer 
and  ugly,  but  he  seemed  to  guess  when  she  felt  unhappy 
and  would  call  her  little  affectionate  names  that  she  did 
not  understand.  However,  she  understood  the  tones  of 
his  voice  and  his  ways  of  petting  her  and  attending  to 
her  comfort:  and  by  the  time  she  lay  down  in  his  cloak 
she  felt  safe  with  him.  In  two  minutes  she  fell  fast 
asleep  and  Andrea  watched  her,  anxious  and  wide  awake. 
He  could  not  feel  either  safe  or  triumphant  yet.  The 
powers  of  the  wire  and  the  telephone  were  against  him. 
He  might  be  met  at  Euston  by  detectives  with  warrants 
for  his  arrest.  He  supposed  he  was  committing  some 
crime  against  the  English  law  in  abducting  Peggy,  and 

154 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  155 

that  if  they  were  discovered  she  would  be  snatched  from 
him.  He  had  a  miserable  journey,  starting  at  every 
footstep  and  listening  to  every  sound.  Besides,  he  was 
bitter  cold  without  his  cloak,  and  the  ancient  chicken  leg 
had  not  satisfied  his  hunger.  When  he  roused  Peggy 
just  before  they  reached  London  she  began  to  cry  because 
she  was  not  at  home  in  bed,  and  then  she  wanted  her 
breakfast,  although  he  explained  that  it  was  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  and  therefore  not  time  for  breakfast  yet. 
She  was  still  crying  when  the  train  stopped  at  Euston, 
and  as  he  helped  her  out  she  told  him  she  wanted  to  go 
back  at  once.  He  pretended  not  to  understand,  but, 
taking  her  by  the  hand,  led  her  hastily  through  the  crowd 
descending  from  the  train  and  through  the  empty-looking 
station  into  the  Euston  Road,  where  by  good  luck  he 
found  a  taxi  that  took  them  to  his  friends  in  Soho.  They 
were  naturally  in  bed,  and  it  took  time  to  rouse  them, 
but  when  they  found  that  he,  Andrea  Sarzoni,  stood  there 
in  the  street  and  had  brought  the  bambina  with  him  their 
excitement  expressed  itself  in  ways  that  Peggy,  at  any 
rate,  had  never  seen  before.  A  key  was  turned,  a  door 
was  opened,  and  a  whole  family  of  strange-looking  peo- 
ple, all  talking  at  once,  seemed  to  take  possession  of  her. 
Andrea  talked  too,  very  fast  and  very  loud.  She  did  not 
know  what  any  of  them  were  saying.  But  a  girl  with 
big  black  eyes  and  fuzzy  black  hair  took  her  on  her  knee, 
while  another  girl  got  a  tray  ready  with  tea  and  bread- 
and-butter  and  cold  ham.  They  gave  her  that,  but  a 
few  minutes  later  they  brought  Andrea  a  plate  heaped 
up  with  steaming  macaroni  and  a  bottle  of  wine:  and 
Peggy  watched  him  eat  the  macaroni  as  Italians  do,  roll- 
ing it  round  his  fork  and  swallowing  more  at  a  time 
than  she  thought  polite.  But  his  friends  seemed  to  be 
just  as  kind  as  he  was,  and  when  they  put  her  to  bed 
the  bed  was  white  and  clean.  That  was  all  she  knew 
till  next  day,  when  the  dark-eyed  girl  came  in  to  help 


156  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

her  wash  and  dress  and  told  her  they  must  be  quick 
because  the  train  started  in  an  hour. 

"Are  we  going  back?"  she  said  to  Andrea:  and  she 
suddenly  felt  afraid  and  forlorn.  She  did  not  want  to 
go  back,  she  found,  when  it  came  to  the  point.  He  did 
not  hear  her  because  he  seemed  to  be  settling  accounts 
with  his  friends:  and  after  farewells  that  embraced 
Peggy  as  warmly  as  they  did  him,  the  travelers  got  into 
a  cab  accompanied  by  the  dark-eyed  girl,  who  now  wore 
a  coat  displaying  a  good  deal  of  neck  and  a  ribbon  toque 
with  a  feather  trimming.  They  stopped  at  a  big  shop 
on  the  way,  and  in  a  frenzy  of  haste  the  girl  rushed 
Peggy  upstairs  to  the  first  floor  and  said  that  she  wanted 
a  warm  traveling-coat  for  this  young  lady,  and  one  of 
those  on  the  nearest  stand  would  do,  and  if  they  couldn't 
serve  her  that  moment  she  wouldn't  have  one  at  all.  A 
hop  pole  in  black  moved  languidly  forward,  took  the 
Italian  girl's  measure  and  did  not  think  much  of  it,  and 
brought  forward  a  cheap-looking  creation  in  black  and 
buff  squares,  like  a  draught-board. 

"  'Orrible !"  said  the  Italian,  whose  English  aitches 
were  not  her  strong  point. 

An  altercation  ensued  that  Peggy  settled  by  asking 
for  a  rose-colored  coat  with  a  fur  collar  that  was  on  show 
by  itself  and  expensive.  However,  the  Italian  produced 
the  money  for  it,  put  it  over  her  arm,  and  rushed  Peggy 
down  to  the  taxi,  where  they  found  Andrea  fidgeting  on 
the  pavement  and  certain  that  they  would  lose  their  train. 
But  they  just  caught  it,  and  as  it  moved  off  the  Italian, 
who  still  had  the  coat  on  her  arm,  gave  a  dramatic  shriek 
and  stuffed  it  through  the  window. 

"Ecco!"  cried  Andrea,  and  tried  to  put  it  on  over 
Peggy's  black  coat,  which  was  impossible.  With  a  ges- 
ture of  despair  he  put  both  his  hands  to  his  head  and 
seemed  about  to  tear  his  hair. 

"Poor  little  one,"  he  cried.    "It  vis  too  small,  and  now 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  157 

you  will  die  of  cold  and  your  mother  will  continue  to 
weep  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  console  her." 

"But  I  never  wear  two  coats  of  the  same  kind,"  ex- 
plained Peggy.  "I'll  put  on  the  pink  one  and  carry  the 
black  one  over  my  arm." 

He  sighed  loudly,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  felt  both  the 
coats  to  appraise  their  thickness,  decided  in  favor  of  the 
new  one  and  helped  Peggy  to  complete  the  change. 

"Your  uncle  seems  very  fond  of  you,"  said  an  elderly 
man  traveling  in  the  same  compartment,  when  Andrea 
had  gone  into  the  corridor  to  see  if  he  could  get  Peggy 
a  glass  of  milk. 

"He  isn't  my  uncle,"  said  Peggy.  "I  don't  know  who 
he  is." 

"Really!"  said  the  elderly  man.  "Then  how  do  you 
come  to  be  traveling  with  him?" 

"He  is  taking  me  to  see  my  mother,"  said  Peggy,  after 
a  moment's  consideration :  but  when  the  elderly  man  left 
the  carriage  she  told  Andrea  what  he  had  said. 

"I  didn't  tell  him  we  had  run  away  together,  and  I 
didn't  tell  him  my  name,"  she  added. 

"You  should  not  have  told  him  anything,"  said  Andrea, 
in  a  fidget  at  once.  "If  we  are  found  you  will  be  taken 
away  from  me  and  you  will  never  see  that  most  beautiful 
angel  your  mother,  or  the  cherries  in  her  garden,  or  the 
Archbishop  in  his  robes  and  his  red  silk  gloves  as  I 
have  promised  you.  You  will  never  see  Siena  at  all. 
You  will  go  back  to  the  wet,  cold  garden  and  weep  beside 
the  grave  of  your  little  dog  and  remember  your  poor 
Andrea  who  would  have  placed  you  on  your  mother's 
knee  and  seen  her  dry  her  eyes.  Come  here  now  and  let 
me  button  your  coat,  which  is  the  color  of  the  big  oleander 
in  one  corner  of  your  mother's  garden.  We  are  at  Dover, 
and  on  the  sea  it  will  be  bitter  cold.  Also,  I  shall  suffer 
much  from  sea-sickness  and  not  be  able  to  talk  to  you. 
Therefore  I  will  take  you  down  to  the  ladies'  cabin  and 


158  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

ask  the  stewardess  to  attend  to  you  if  you  too 
are  ill." 

But  at  Calais  Peggy  bobbed  up  as  fresh  as  paint,  and 
explained  to  Andrea,  who  looked  green,  that  she  had  not 
stayed  ten  minutes  in  the  ladies'  cabin  because  it  was 
stuffy.  She  had  gone  up  on  deck  and  had  talked  to  ever 
so  many  people,  and  they  had  all  wanted  to  know  who 
she  was  and  where  she  was  going:  so  she  had  told  them 
that  she  was  going  to  Italy  with  her  uncle,  who  was  a 
brigand,  and  that  they  meant  to  live  in  a  cave  on  the 
top  of  a  mountain  and  take  money  from  the  rich  in  order 
to  give  to  the  poor.  A  disagreeable  old  lady  had  called 
her  a  little  story-teller,  so  she  had  pointed  to  Andrea, 
who  was  very  ill  at  the  time,  and  someone  with  the  old  lady 
had  said  he  certainly  looked  like  a  brigand  or  a  hurdy- 
gurdy  man.  Someone  else  had  wondered  aloud  where 
Peggy's  pink  coat  came  from,  and  she  had  told  them  that 
an  Italian  girl  had  just  walked  into  a  shop,  thrown  it 
over  her  arm  and  run  down  with  it  to  the  brigand  who 
was  waiting  below.  After  this  they  had  not  talked  to 
her  much,  but  she  made  friends  with  a  sailor  who  had 
been  listening  with  a  grin  on  his  face,  and  told  her  he 
had  a  little  girl  just  her  age  and  as  fond  of  a  yarn  as  she 
seemed  to  be.  She  had  told  him  about  her  father  dying 
last  October,  and  then  he  had  asked  her  how  she  came 
to  be  wearing  a  pink  coat:  and  that  reminded  her  that 
she  was  in  mourning  and  ought  to  have  bought  a  black 
one. 

Andrea  listened  to  her  prattle,  only  half  understanding 
it  and  only  half  realizing  that  they  were  a  conspicuous 
couple,  even  in  a  cosmopolitan  traveling  crowd.  People 
stared  at  them,  and  that  made  him  fear  they  were  being 
watched  and  followed.  He  was  thankful  when  the  train 
moved  out  of  Calais  station  and  he  found  himself  in  a 
compartment  with  French  people  who  talked  to  each 
other  and  hardly  glanced  his  way.  He  was  going  to  risk 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  159 

dining  on  the  train,  but  as  he  went  to  the  restaurant  car 
with  Peggy  he  told  her  to  keep  quiet  and  say  nothing  of 
their  affairs.  She  was  enjoying  herself  tremendously. 
No  adventure  she  had  ever  had  could  compare  with  this 
one,  and  it  seemed  to  get  more  glorious  every  hour.  The 
last  shadow  of  fear  and  distrust  had  vanished  from  her 
mind  and  she  now  regarded  Andrea  much  as  she  had 
regarded  Dingo.  He  could  not  speak  her  tongue  quite 
satisfactorily,  but  she  could  make  him  understand  what 
she  wanted  and  he  was  invariably  ready  to  do  it.  He 
looked  at  her  with  the  same  adoring  eyes,  and  he  seemed 
to  know  when  her  cough  hurt  her,  which  of  course  poor 
Dingo  had  not  been  able  to  do.  They  had  a  lovely  dinner 
at  a  little  table  set  for  two,  and  after  it  they  had  black, 
sweet  coffee.  Andrea  said  it  was  not  good  for  her,  but 
he  let  her  have  it.  He  was  not  a  bit  like  Mr.  Gerard, 
who  was  kind  but  would  stand  no  nonsense.  Peggy  knew 
by  this  time  that  Andrea  would  stand  anything.  After 
dinner  Andrea  fell  fast  asleep,  but  Peggy  did  not  feel 
sleepy.  Perhaps  it  was  the  black  coffee.  At  any  rate, 
she  was  wide  awake  and  tired  of  sitting  still,  so  as  other 
people  were  passing  to  and  fro  in  the  corridor  she  thought 
she  would  go  out  there  too  and  see  what  was  happening. 
A  young  man  leaning  against  an  open  window  engaged 
her  in  conversation,  and  surprised  her  by  saying  that  they 
would  soon  arrive  in  Paris. 

"Is  it  a  nice  place?"  said  Peggy. 

"Rather !"  said  the  young  man,  slightly  shutting  one 
eye.  "You  get  the  best  chocolates  in  the  world  there." 
He  looked  at  her  pink  coat.  "And  the  prettiest  clothes," 
he  added.  He  pulled  out  his  handkerchief  and  waved  it 
towards  Peggy.  It  smelt  of  fresh  violets.  "And  the 
most  heavenly  scents  and  soaps,"  he  went  on.  "You 
are  a  lucky  child  to  be  going  there." 

Peggy  looked  at  him  pensively,  turned  on  her  heel  and 
went  back  to  her  seat  opposite  Andrea.  She  had  to 


160  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

shake  him  hard  before  she  could  wake  him,  and  then  he 
only  looked  half  awake. 

"This  train  isn't  going  to  Siena  at  all,"  she  said  shrilly. 
"It  is  going  to  Paris." 

"Little  angel,  I  know  it,"  said  Andrea  sleepily.  "Paris 
is  on  the  way  to  Siena." 

"How  long  shall  we  stay  there?" 

"We  shall  not  stay  at  all.  We  shall  drive  across  it 
and  get  into  another  train." 

"But  I  want  to  stay  there,"  said  Peggy.  "I  want  to 
buy  some  chocolates.  Besides,  I'm  very  tired  and  my 
cough  hurts  me.  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  Can't  we  go  to 
Siena  to-morrow  or  the  day  after  .  .  .  when  we've  seen 
the  chocolate-shops?" 

.  Andrea  hesitated.  He  was  tired  himself,  but  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  get  on  to  Italy  where  he  knew  what 
to  do  next  and  felt  at  home. 

"To-morrow  night  we  shall  sleep  in  Genoa,"  he  coaxed. 
"I  have  told  you  about  Genoa.  I  shall  take  you  to  see 
the  Sign  of  the  Cock  made  of  glass  grapes  and  the 
leopard  in  the  Zoological  Gardens.  You  will  see  great 
ships  there  and  the  sea  and  mountains.  It  is  a  fine  city." 

"We  can  go  there  after  Paris,"  said  Peggy. 

"But  your  mother  who  weeps  for  you.  .  .  ." 

"She  has  wept  a  long  time.  A  day  or  two  more 
couldn't  make  much  difference.  If  we  stayed  in  Paris 
we  could  take  her  a  box  of  chocolates  and  some  scent 
and  some  soap.  I'm  sure  she  would  like  them." 

"I've  no  friends  in  Paris  now,"  argued  Andrea.  "I 
know  of  no  hotel." 

Peggy  was  out  of  the  carriage  and  into  the  corridor  as 
quick  as  lightning.  She  touched  her  friend  of  the  hand- 
kerchief on  the  arm. 

"Do  you  know  of  a  hotel  in  Paris?"  she  asked. 

"I  know  a  good  many,"  he  said  amused.  "I  stay  at 
the  Scribe." 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  161 

"Do  you  mind  if  my  uncle  and  I  come  there  too?  My 
uncle  is  Italian  and  he  doesn't  know  much  about  Paris, 
he  says.  He  wants  to  go  straight  on  to  Genoa,  but  I 
want  to  stay  in  Paris." 

"What  about  your  luggage?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"He  has  his  with  him  and  I  came  away  without  any," 
said  Peggy.  "Perhaps  I  could  buy  some  things  in  Paris 
to-morrow.  It  was  what  you  said  about  soap  that  made 
me  think  of  it  ...  partly.  I've  no  soap  and  no  sponge 
and  no  comb  or  toothbrush.  It's  so  inconvenient." 

"But  have  you  lost  your  luggage?" 

"Not  exactly.  I  came  away  in  a  hurry  and  left  it  at 
home.  But  I  am  enjoying  myself  very  much.  My  uncle 
is  a  very  kind  man." 

"On  which  side  are  you  Italian  ?  You  look  thoroughly 
English." 

"I  am !"  cried  Peggy.  "He  just  happens  to  be  my 
uncle.  I  think  I'll  tell  him  the  name  of  that  hotel  before 
I  forget  it." 

She  ran  off  and  found  that  Andrea  was  wide  awake 
now  and  ready  for  their  arrival  in  Paris. 

"We  can  stop  at  the  Hotel  Scribe,"  she  said.  "Some- 
one out  there  in  the  corridor  is  going  there  and  told  me 
the  name.  I  told  him  you  were  my  uncle.  Will  the 
shops  be  shut  when  we  get  there?  I  want  a  sponge  and 
a  comb  and  a  toothbrush  and  a  nightgown." 

"All  those  things  you  could  buy  in  Genoa,"  said 
Andrea. 

"I  should  like  to  stop  in  Genoa  too,"  said  Peggy.  "I 
like  traveling  ...  at  least,  I  like  it  with  you,  darling 
Uncle  Andrea.  ...  I  didn't  want  to  go  with  them  and 
leave  Dingo  behind.  ...  I  wish  you  had  come  a  little 
sooner.  We  might  have  brought  Dingo  with  us.  Poor 
Dingo!" 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE  young  man  was  amused.     He  arrived  at  the 
hotel  at  the  same  moment  as  the  English  child 
in  the  rose-colored  coat  and  the  deformed  Italian 
who  carried  a  violin.     As  they  could  not  speak  much 
French  he  interpreted  for  them,  and  he  was  commanded 
by  Peggy  to  say  that  she  required  a  nightgown,  a  sponge, 
a  toothbrush  and  a  comb. 

"I  can  buy  a  brush  to-morrow,"  she  explained.  The 
young  man  was  used  to  odd  people  and  various  nationali- 
ties because  his  business  obliged  him  to  travel  a  good 
deal :  but  his  experience  made  him  a  good  judge,  and  he 
felt  sure  that  Andrea  and  Peggy  did  not  belong  to  each 
other.  However,  their  affairs  were  not  his,  and  if  he 
felt  sorry  for  one  of  the  two,  it  was  for  Andrea,  who 
seemed  to  be  putty  in  the  child's  hands. 

"Little  angel,"  Andrea  had  said,  "I  cannot  buy  you 
these  things  to-night.  The  shops  are  shut."  But  the 
little  angel  had  said  that  it  was  impossible  to  go  to  bed 
without  them  and  that  she  would  like  a  glass  of  milk 
and  a  few  chocolates  as  well.  So  a  waiter  and  a  cham- 
bermaid and  the  young  man  had  conferred  together,  and 
the  young  man  produced  a  box  of  chocolates  that  he 
presented  to  Peggy,  while  the  chambermaid  called  her  a 
little  angel  in  French  and  helped  her  to  wash  in  a  small 
dressing  room  off  her  bedroom  where  there  was  a  big 
basin  and  hot  water  out  of  a  tap.  Peggy  liked  being  a 
little  angel  and  getting  everything  she  asked  for.  She 
liked  her  room  at  the  hotel  that  had  an  enormous  high 
window  with  brocade  curtains  and  a  sofa  and  chairs 
covered  with  red  velvet.  To  go  fast  to  sleep  and  then 

162 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  163 

next  morning  to  wake  in  it  was  like  waking  to  a  dream 
that  lasted.  She  managed  to  wash  and  dress  herself,  and 
when  she  was  ready  Andrea  was  ready  too,  and  they  had 
breakfast  together  in  her  room :  a  delicious  breakfast  of 
chocolate  and  rolls  and  butter  and  eggs.  After  breakfast 
he  asked  her  what  she  would  like  to  do,  and  she  said 
she  would  like  to  find  the  chocolate-shops  and  buy  herself 
some  clothes. 

"Chocolates,  yes :  but  not  clothes,"  said  Andrea,  re- 
sisting her  for  once.  "Your  mother  will  get  you  clothes." 

"Will  they  be  as  good  in  Siena  as  in  Paris?"  asked 
Peggy :  and  Andrea  said  he  did  not  know,  but  that  he 
was  not  going  to  buy  any  as  he  could  not  trust  either  his 
taste  or  hers.  Besides,  neither  of  them  could  talk  French. 
Peggy  said  that  she  could  talk  enough  to  get  chocolates 
if  she  saw  them  in  a  shop  window,  so  the  odd  pair 
sallied  forth  together  for  a  day  in  Paris.  There  was 
a  little  trouble  in  the  first  chocolate-shop  they  passed 
because  Peggy  wanted  a  big  box  which  Andrea  said  she 
should  have  but  could  not  carry  about  with  her.  They 
must  be  sent  to  the  hotel. 

"But  if  they  are  sent  to  the  hotel  I  can't  eat  them," 
replied  Peggy.  "We  want  to  be  out  all  day  and  see 
everything  in  Paris." 

"Little  angel,  if  you  eat  chocolates  all  day  you  will 
be  ill,"  argued  Andrea.  "One  or  two  are  good,  but 
many  are  evil.  This  small  box  you  may  have  to  carry 
with  you,  but  the  other  we  shall  take  to  your  mother 
in  Siena." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  conceded  Peggy,  who  had 
eaten  a  good  many  chocolates  the  night  before  and  knew 
very  well  that  Andrea  was  right.  "I  think  I'll  send  the 
small  box  to  the  hotel  too,"  she  said  on  consideration. 
"It  would  be  very  awkward  if  I  was  ill  on  the  journey." 

Andrea  praised  her  wisdom,  which,  he  said,  was  re- 
markable in  one  so  young,  and  then  hailed  a  taxi  in  which 


164  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

they  drove  to  the  Louvre  together,  through  the  gay, 
crowded  Paris  streets.  They  had  a  long,  rapturous  morn- 
ing amongst  the  pictures  and  sculptures,  and  Andrea  said 
that  her  intelligence  rejoiced  and  surprised  him.  They 
went  through  the  galleries  arm  in  arm  and  he  told  her 
what  he  could  in  his  broken  English.  When  he  came 
to  the  Italians  he  knew  little  stories  about  the  old  painters 
that  made  her  ask  if  they  were  alive  and  his  friends; 
so  he  tried  to  explain  their  dates  to  her,  and  the  date 
of  the  Venus  of  Milo,  before  whom  they  stayed  until 
Peggy  began  to  fidget  and  say  she  was  hungry.  By 
that  time  it  was  one  o'clock,  and  Andrea  took  another 
taxi  and  drove  to  a  restaurant  full  of  people  having 
lunch.  There  they  met  the  young  man  of  the  train, 
who  was  looking  out  for  them  and  had  reserved  a  table 
for  three  on  the  first  floor.  He  had  ordered  lunch  too — 
the  most  attractive  lunch,  that  began  with  a  sole  for 
Peggy  and  mussels  for  the  men.  At  least,  the  men 
really  began  with  cocktails,  and  Andrea  let  Peggy  taste 
his,  but  she  did  not  like  it.  She  liked  everything  else, 
and  especially  the  ices  at  the  end,  and  after  lunch  she  felt 
so  sleepy  that  Andrea  persuaded  her  to  go  back  to  the 
hotel  and  lie  down.  He  tucked  her  up  in  an  eiderdown, 
darkened  the  room,  and  promised  to  wake  her  when  it 
was  time  to  go  out  again.  But  she  waked  by  herself 
with  the  feeling  of  having  slept  for  hours,  and  when  she 
peeped  into  Andrea's  room  he  was  not  there.  For  a 
moment  panic  took  her  by  the  throat.  Suppose  he  had 
gone  for  good  and  left  her  there  alone,  without  a  penny, 
in  a  foreign  land?  Suppose  his  kindness  was  a  delusion 
and  his  promises  a  snare?  What  would  become  of  her? 
There,  to  be  sure,  were  his  violin  and  his  suit-case,  but 
he  might  have  left  them  as  she  had  left  everything  she 
possessed,  in  order  to  get  away.  A  child  of  ten  does 
not  reason  much  or  inquire  into  motives.  Here  she  stood 
forlorn  and  deserted  in  a  strange  hotel,  still  heavy  with 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  165 

sleep,  inclined  to  fears,  more  used  to  unkindness  than 
to  love.  She  began  to  cry,  and  crying  made  her  cough 
come  on  badly.  Andrea  could  not  understand  what  was 
happening  when  he  came  into  the  room  with  his  arms 
full  of  parcels  and  found  Peggy  damp  and  crumpled  in 
one  corner  of  her  red  velvet  sofa,  the  room  still  dark 
and  sad.  He  put  his  parcels  on  the  table,  drew  back  the 
curtains  and  took  the  silly  child  in  his  arms. 

"I  thought  you  had  gone  away,"  she  sobbed. 

He  coaxed  and  fondled  her,  with  a  warm  feeling  about 
his  heart.  In  less  than  two  days  he  had  so  won  hers 
that  she  wept  for  him,  the  dear  little  one,  and  ceased  to 
weep  when  he  appeared. 

"See  now  what  I  have  brought  for  you,"  he  said,  and 
opened  the  parcels  he  had  put  on  the  table.  He  had 
been  out  and  about  while  she  slept,  it  seemed,  and  had 
got  her  the  things  she  needed  most  for  the  rest  of  the 
journey:  a  nightgown,  a  sponge  and  comb  and  brushes, 
and  a  warm  dressing-gown  for  the  night.  Some  Made- 
leines, too,  and  a  flask  that  he  meant  to  have  filled  with 
milk  before  they  started.  Peggy  dried  her  eyes  and  tried 
on  the  dressing-gown,  which  was  blue  and  suited  her 
copper-colored  hair  better  than  the  pink  coat  did.  Then 
she  got  ready  to  go  out  again,  and  after  giving  her  tea 
in  a  tea-shop  he  took  her  for  a  drive  in  the  Bois. 

The  journey  to  Genoa  took  nearly  twenty-four  hours 
and  Peggy  was  very  tired  when  they  arrived  there.  So 
was  Andrea.  He  had  not  been  able  to  get  sleepers, 
and  they  had  been  obliged  to  sit  up  all  night  in  an 
overcrowded  carriage.  Peggy's  cough  had  been  trouble- 
some, not  only  to  herself  but  to  her  fellow-travelers. 
They  said  it  kept  them  from  sleeping.  Andrea  observed 
that  it  also  kept  the  child  from  sleeping,  but  that  idea 
did  not  seem  to  appease  them.  They  said  a  child  in  a 
state  like  that  ought  not  to  be  traveling  at  all.  What 
was  her  mother  thinking  about? 


166  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

"Probably  about  the  child,"  snapped  Andrea,  who  felt 
cross  and  sleepy  himself.  "We  are  on  our  way  to  her." 

Then  a  good-natured  person  had  offered  Peggy 
oranges  for  her  cough,  and  she  had  eaten  two,  but  had 
made  her  fingers  sticky  and  spilt  the  juice  on  her  new 
coat.  Andrea  took  her  outside  to  wash  her  hands  and 
rub  off  the  stains  on  the  coat,  and  when  they  got  back  an 
extra  stout  person  had  spread  into  Peggy's  corner  and 
was  snoring  there.  He  had  to  be  waked,  and  he  did  not 
like  it.  Besides,  he  made  Peggy  more  uncomfortable 
than  she  need  have  been  by  going  to  sleep  again  and 
allowing  his  mountainous  body  to  fall  heavily  against 
her.  Andrea  changed  places  with  her  and  drove  a  bony 
but  muscular  elbow  into  his  neighbor  whenever  he  en- 
croached. That  brought  about  an  argument  volubly 
conducted  in  Italian  by  Andrea  and  in  Serbian  by  the  fat 
man.  They  did  not  understand  each  other's  words,  but 
they  understood  each  other's  hisses  and  gestures.  When 
they  subsided,  Peggy  had  a  fresh  fit  of  coughing  and 
said  she  wanted  her  breakfast.  Andrea  got  out  the  flask 
of  milk  and  found  that  it  had  gone  sour.  That  upset 
him  visibly,  and  seeing  this  the  Serbian  took  a  Thermos 
from  his  bag  and  gave  Peggy  a  cup  of  hot  tea  from  it. 
After  that  everyone  dozed  off  for  an  hour  or  two,  but 
no  one  could  get  much  sleep  because  of  Peggy's  cough, 
which  was  fitful  but  persistent.  She  explained  that  she 
did  not  cough  on  purpose,  but  her  fellow-travelers  had 
an  air  of  not  believing  her.  One  or  two  of  them  looked 
for  other  seats  but  could  not  find  any.  The  night  was 
long,  dry  and  weary.  After  dawn  broke  it  seemed  hours 
before  breakfast  was  ready  in  the  restaurant  car. 

"I  thought  I  liked  traveling,  but  I'm  not  sure  that  I 
do,"  said  Peggy,  who  looked  ill  and  heavy-eyed  now. 
"I  want  to  go  to  bed.  Can't  we  get  out  at  the  next  station 
and  stay  at  another  hotel  till  to-morrow?  I  don't  want 
to  stop  in  this  horrid  old  train  all  day." 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  167 

But  Andrea  was  determined  to  go  on.  When  Peggy 
had  washed  and  had  breakfast  she  seemed  better  again, 
and  by  day  her  cough  was  not  quite  as  troublesome  as  it 
had  been  by  night.  He  would  have  telegraphed  to 
Daphne  to  meet  them  at  Genoa,  but  there  was  a  postal 
and  telegraph  strike  on  and  he  knew  that  he  could  get  to 
Siena  before  his  message.  His  thoughts  often  went  to 
the  child's  English  home  and  the  steps  that  must  have 
been  taken  by  this  time  for  her  recapture.  They  must 
have  been  seen  together  in  the  boat  and  again  on  the 
train.  After  that,  London  was  large,  and  he  hoped  that 
he  had  covered  his  tracks.  He  knew  little  enough  about 
children,  but  he  could  partly  see  and  partly  judge  from 
what  Peggy  told  him  that  she  had  been  badly  used  by 
her  step-mother.  When  she  fell  asleep  in  the  train  she 
had  more  than  once  waked  in  a  fright  with  scared  eyes 
and  a  shrinking  body  that  told  their  own  tale. 

"I  dreamed  that  she  had  come  for  me,"  she  said  the 
first  time,  and  henceforward  Andrea  knew  that  when 
Peggy  waked  like  that  he  must  speak  to  her  at  once  and 
comfort  her. 

They  stayed  two  nights  in  Genoa  because  Peggy  in- 
sisted on  seeing  the  leopard  in  the  Zoological  Gardens 
and  the  Sign  of  the  Cock  made  of  glass  grapes  and  the 
big  ships  about  to  sail  for  South  America. 

"Are  you  in  no  hurry  then  to  see  your  mother?"  he 
asked  her. 

"Not  particularly,"  said  Peggy.    "I  may  not  like  her." 

"But  I  tell  you  that  she  is  an  angel." 

Peggy  looked  at  him  skeptically.  "You  call  me  an 
angel,"  she  pointed  out,  "but  you  know  I'm  not  one. 
She  used  to  call  me  a  little  devil.  I  felt  like  one,  too, 
when  she  beat  me.  I  bit  her  once." 

"Talk  not  of  those  evil  days,"  said  Andrea.  "They 
are  over  and  will  not  come  again.  A  child  should  always 
remember  the  Holy  Bambino  who  sits  on  his  Mother's 


168  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

knee  and  smiles.  A  child  should  be  happy  and  good. 
Why  did  you  allow  your  little  dog  to  destroy  those 
beautiful  flowers?  When  I  first  saw  you  I  thought  I 
had  never  seen  so  evil  a  child,  and  that  I  would  not  take 
you  to  your  mother  to  make  her  weep  even  more  than 
she  does  when  she  sits  alone." 

Peggy  did  not  like  to  say  so,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
Andrea's  picture  of  a  mother  for  ever  in  tears  did  not 
attract  her.  She  admired  people  like  Mr.  Gerard,  who 
met  life  with  smiles  and  faced  trouble  as  if  it  was  a  jest. 
She  had  quite  made  up  her  mind  that  when  she  was  old 
enough  to  travel  by  herself  she  would  go  across  the 
world,  if  need  be,  and  see  him  again.  He  still  had  the 
paramount  place  in  her  heart.  Andrea  was  kindness 
itself,  and  she  loved  him,  but  as  a  rule  she  could  twist 
him  round  her  little  finger.  Mr.  Gerard  was  kind,  but  he 
could  not  be  twisted,  and  when  you  yourself  are  a  crea- 
ture of  moods  and  impulses  wanting  this  and  that,  tem- 
pestuous inside  and  inclined  to  naughtiness,  you  are  at- 
tracted by  a  nature  stronger  than  your  own.  Peggy 
tried  to  explain  why  she  had  led  Dingo  across  the  tulip- 
bed,  but  she  could  only  make  Andrea  understand  that 
she  had  done  wrong  deliberately,  and  that  made  him 
shake  his  head  and  hope  she  would  not  break  her  mother's 
heart.  When  they  got  to  Pisa  he  took  her  to  see  the 
Leaning  Tower  and  followed  her  to  the  top,  grumbling 
to  himself  in  Italian  all  the  way.  When  they  got  nearly 
to  the  top  she  insisted  on  running  round  the  outside, 
although  he  told  her  they  would  certainly  turn  dizzy 
and  fall  and  be  dashed  to  pieces.  But  he  went  with 
her,  though  he  hated  it  and  looked  quite  pale  for  some 
time  afterwards.  He  turned  paler  still  when  she  said 
she  would  like  to  take  her  step-mother  up  there  and  see 
her  fall  over. 

"I  wouldn't  push  her,"  she  assured  him,  "but  if  she 
fell  and  killed  herself  I  shouldn't  cry.  I  don't  suppose 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  169 

it  would  hurt  much.  Besides,  she  killed  Dingo.  I  want 
to  hurt  her  really.  I  want  her  to  be  like  those  people  in 
the  picture  on  the  wall  .  .  .  the  ones  that  are  having 
spears  thrust  through  them  for  ever  and  for  ever  .  .  . 
she  deserves  it." 

Andrea  sighed  and  talked  about  the  Bambino  again, 
but  Peggy  would  not  unsay  what  she  had  said.  Nor 
would  she  look  forward  to  the  reunion  with  her  mother 
as  he  did.  She  said  she  did  not  remember  her  much, 
and  hoped  she  would  be  nice. 

"If  I  don't  like  her  can  I  come  and  live  with  you?" 
she  inquired,  but  Andrea  shook  his  head. 

"You  will  adore  her,"  he  prophesied. 

"She  may  not  like  me,"  suggested  Peggy.  "I'm  not 
usually  liked." 

"But  Grasie  a  Dio,  you  are  her  child !" 

"I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,"  said  Peggy. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

"TYEGGY  felt  queer  and  tired  when  she  arrived  at 
K^  Siena  late  that  afternoon.  It  was  daylight  and  yet 
she  wanted  to  go  to  bed.  Her  cough  had  been 
troublesome  in  the  train  and  her  chest  ached  with  it. 
In  spite  of  her  new  cloak  she  looked  like  a  little  raga- 
muffin, but  that  did  not  trouble  her  nor  did  Andrea 
think  about  it.  He  was  in  a  state  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment, avoiding  people  he  knew  and  bustling  Peggy  into 
one  of  the  little  open  carriages  waiting  at  the  station. 

"Our  horse  has  got  feathers  on  its  head,"  she  mur- 
mured, and  waked  up  enough  -to  see  other  horses  with 
tall  feathers  sticking  bolt  upright  from  their  foreheads. 
She  had  seen  them  in  Genoa  and  Pisa  but  had  not  driven 
behind  one  yet. 

"Ours  has  a  blue  feather  as  well  as  brown  ones,"  she 
said,  and  then  shut  her  eyes  again. 

Andrea  thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  brought  her 
safely  so  far  and  hoped  he  had  not  brought  her  here  to 
die.  She  went  up  and  down  in  a  manner  he  did  not 
understand.  This  morning  on  the  stairs  of  the  Leaning 
Tower  she  had  run  about  like  quicksilver,  she  had  eaten 
hardly  anything  at  lunch,  and  ever  since  she  had  flagged. 
But  now  she  would  have  her  mother  and,  if  necessary, 
the  good  doctors  of  Siena:  so  all  was  well.  He  had 
ceased  to  be  troubled  by  fears  of  pursuit.  From  what 
Peggy  told  him  she  was  not  beloved  by  her  step-mother, 
so  probably  that  evil  woman  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  the 
child  and  would  take  no  steps  to  get  her  back.  .  .  .  He 
could  hardly  wait  for  the  moment  when  he  would  put  her 

170 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  171 

into  her  mother's  arms,  and  as  they  drove  through  the 
crowded  main  street  of  the  city  his  eyes  were  rapt  as  they 
were  when  he  was  playing  and  he  did  not  speak.  They 
stopped  first  at  his  own  lodging,  where  he  got  rid  of  his 
suit-case  and  his  violin,  and  then  they  drove  on  to  the 
quiet  airy  corner  where  Daphne  lived.  "See,  little  lamb, 
see !"  he  cried,  pointing  upwards.  "There  is  your 
mother's  garden.  There  is  her  cherry-tree.  Come,  open 
your  eyes.  You  shall  soon  be  in  a  soft  white  bed,  and 
to-morrow  there  will  be  no  train." 

He  paid  the  cabman,  put  his  arm  round  Peggy  to  help 
her  upstairs,  and  when  he  got  to  the  third  floor  rang  the 
bell.  The  Italian  maid  took  them  into  Daphne's  sitting- 
room,  which  had  a  great  many  flowers  and  books  in  it, 
a  grand  piano,  and  not  much  furniture.  From  the  win- 
dow there  was  a  view  of  the  hills,  and  another  window 
opened  on  a  tiled  terrace  with  seats  and  on  the  crowded 
little  garden.  But  Peggy  had  no  time  to  look  about  her 
much  because  a  lady  came  into  the  room  and  then  stood 
still  and  stared  at  her  in  surprise.  She  had  a  pretty 
pale  pink  color  in  her  cheeks  that  went  away  as  she 
stared.  She  did  not  speak.  She  looked  startled  and 
incredulous.  She  looked  at  Andrea,  and  he  did  not  speak 
either  at  first.  He  tried  to,  and  the  words  died  in  his 
throat.  Peggy  liked  the  lady.  She  was  young  and  very 
pretty,  with  fair,  wavy  hair  that  covered  her  ears  and 
was  gathered  in  a  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head.  She 
had  beautiful  blue  eyes,  and  a  wistful  mouth.  Her  hands 
were  lovely.  Peggy  noticed  them  at  once  because  they 
were  so  white  and  slender.  She  wore  a  dress  as  blue 
as  cornflowers  and  as  straight  as  a  nightgown:  but  she 
had  on  a  jeweled  girdle  that  kept  it  in  its  place.  Peggy 
went  up  to  her. 

"Are  you  my  real  mother?"  she  said,  and  that  seemed 
to  break  the  spell.  The  lady  gave  a  cry  of  joy  and  took 
Peggy  into  her  arms,  while  Andrea  spoke  Italian  as  fast 


172  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

as  he  could  and  waved  his  hands.  Daphne  spoke  Italian 
too,  so  Peggy  could  not  follow  them.  But  before  long 
she  was  sitting  close  to  her  mother  on  a  sofa  and  being 
kissed  over  and  over  again  and  petted.  Her  mother  had 
soft,  comfortable  arms  and  a  tender  voice  that  made 
her  feel  sleepy  and  happy.  Indeed,  she  fell  asleep  while 
Daphne  gave  orders  for  a  room  to  be  got  ready  and 
while  Andrea  told  the  lady  of  his  dreams  about  his 
journey  to  Beda  Close  and  back  again. 

"What  made  you  think  of  it?"  said  Daphne. 

"You  did,"  said  Andrea.  "Always  I  saNv  your  arms 
with  the  Bambina  in  them,  and  the  Bambina  was  not 
there.  Now  you  will  no  longer  weep.  You  will  smile 
and  I  shall  be  there  to  see." 

"But  it  was  such  an  impossible  thing  to  do." 

"It  is  done,"  said  Andrea,  with  a  deep  bow,  and  then 
he  took  his  departure,  leaving  mother  and  child  together 
as  he  had  seen  them  from  the  moment  he  had  started  on 
his  quest.  But  before  he  went  he  told  Daphne  the  little 
he  had  gleaned  from  Peggy's  chatter  about  her  life  at 
Beda  Close  and  the  little  had  been  enough.  Daphne's 
face  had  bitterness  in  it  as  she  watched  the  sleeping 
child  and  noted  the  neglected  condition  of  her  clothes 
and  the  half-starved  look  of  her  face  that  was  pinched 
and  black  under  the  eyes.  When  Giuditta  came  to  say 
that  everything  was  ready,  Daphne  waked  Peggy  and 
took  her  into  a  room  that  led  out  of  her  room.  It  had 
a  tiled  floor  and  Italian  inlaid  furniture,  and  the  open 
window  looked  across  the  farm  lands  towards  the  hills. 
It  was  an  airy,  high  room,  and  when  Peggy  had  had  a 
comforting  hot  bath  and  put  on  the  n^vv  nightgown 
bought  for  her  in  Paris  she  lay  in  bed  and  looked  at  the 
angels  painted  on  the  ceiling:  while  her  mother  gathered 
up  the  clothes  she  had  worn  on  the  journey  and  told 
Giuditta  to  carry  them  away. 

"Why  has  she  taken  my  clothes  ?"  said  Peggy,  watching 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  173 

the  old  woman.  "I  shall  want  them  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"I  will  get  you  others,"  said  Daphne.  "Some  of  yours 
want  washing  and  some  are  only  fit  to  burn.  Who  looked 
after  your  clothes?" 

"Mr.  Gerard  did  once  when  I  had  been  ill,"  said 
Peggy.  "He  sent  me  a  trunk  ful  from  Manchester  and 
a  fur  coat.  I  wanted  to  fetch  my  fur  coat  for  the 
journey,  but  Uncle  Andrea  said  that  if  I  did  I  might  be 
stopped  and  not  be  able  to  run  away  with  him.  So  he 
wrapped  me  in  his  cloak  till  we  got  to  London  and  then 
he  bought  me  that  pink  coat.  But  I  chose  it.  Do  you 
like  it?" 

"Not  very  much,"  said  Daphne.  "Who  is  Mr. 
Gerard?" 

"He  is  my  guardian." 

"Is  he  old  or  young?" 

Peggy  had  never  considered  the  question.  When  you 
are  ten  all  grown-up  people  seem  old. 

"His  hair  isn't  gray,"  she  said  after  a  pause.  "Are 
you  old?" 

"I'm  nineteen  years  older  than  you." 

"That  is  very  old,"  said  Peggy,  and  turned  her  atten- 
tion to  a  tray  with  supper  that  Giuditta  brought  in  just 
then.  When  she  sat  up  to  eat  it  her  mother  put  a  warm, 
soft  white  shawl  round  her  thin  shoulders  and  kissed  her 
as  she  did  so. 

"I  like  you  to  touch  me,"  said  Peggy.  "You  make 
me  feel  happy.  You  smell  of  flowers.  Why  didn't  you 
send  Uncle  Andrea  for  me  years  ago,  when  I  was  quite 
little?  Why  did  you  leave  me  with  her?" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  darling,"  murmured  Daphne. 

"Well,  don't  cry,"  said  Peggy,  cracking  a  second  egg. 
"I'm  here  now,  and  they  won't  be  able  to  find  me.  It's 
such  a  long  way  off.  If  they  do  come  we  shall  have  to 
hide.  You  wouldn't  ever  let  me  go  back,  would  you  ?" 


174  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Never,"  said  Daphne.  "Never.  We  would  run  away 
together." 

"I  hope  Mr.  Gerard  won't  come,"  said  Peggy  anxiously. 

"Don't  you  like  him?" 

"I  like  him  better  than  anyone  in  the  world  except 
you  .  .  .  but  I  don't  want  him  to  come  because  if  he 
said  I  must  go  away  I  should  have  to  go." 

"Why?" 

"I  should  have  to.  I  don't  know  why.  But  if  he 
says  I  am  to  go  back  to  her  I  shall  run  up  to  the  top 
of  a  high  tower  like  the  one  at  Pisa  and  throw  myself 
over  the  edge." 

"My  dear  child,  don't  say  such  things,  don't  have  such 
thoughts." 

"I  can't  help  having  them.  When  I  saw  the  pictures 
on  the  wall  of  people  in  Hell  I  wished  she  was  there.  I 
hope  she  will  be  some  day.  She  murdered  Dingo,  my 
little  dog.  She  was  always  beating  me  or  making  me  go 
hungry  or  knocking  me  about.  I  won't  go  back  to  her. 
I  won't !  I  won't !  Even  if  Mr.  Gerard  says  I  must  I 
won't.  I'd  rather  be  dead.  You  won't  let  me  go  back, 
will  you?  I  want  to  stay  with  you  always.  I  don't 
suppose  I  shall  be  as  wicked  with  you  as  I  was  with  her. 
I'll  try  not  to  be.  I  suppose  I  was  born  wicked.  They 
said  you  were,  but  I  don't  believe  it  now  I  know  you." 

Peggy  had  begun  to  talk  of  her  step-mother  while  the 
tray  was  still  on  her  knees,  and  she  grew  so  excited  as 
she  turned  towards  her  mother  that  she  nearly  upset  it. 
So  Daphne  took  it  from  her  and  set  it  down:  and  it  was 
while  she  did  this  that  she  listened  to  her  child's  miser- 
able story.  It  moved  her  more  than  she  wanted  Peggy 
to  understand:  and  more  than  she  understood  herself 
in  the  primary  shock  of  revelation.  Her  immediate  idea 
was  to  calm  the  child's  feverish  excitement,  and  she  did 
this  by  putting  her  arms  round  her,  settling  her  in  bed 
again,  and  telling  her  about  the  pleasant  things  in  store 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  175 

for  her  to-morrow.  She  must  sleep  all  night  first,  and 
in  the  morning  she  should  have  breakfast  in  bed  because 
she  was  not  quite  well  yet,  and  when  she  got  up  she 
should  find  some  new  clothes  ready  for  her.  Her  mother 
would  go  out  early  after  breakfast  and  buy  them. 

"But  you  won't  go  far,  will  you?"  said  Peggy,  looking 
so  scared  that  her  mother  put  her  arms  round  her  again. 
"Suppose  you  were  away  and  they  came  to  fetch  me?" 

Daphne  stayed  with  her  till  she  fell  asleep  and  then 
went  into  the  dining-room  for  her  evening  meal.  She 
knew  that  Giuditta  must  be  full  of  curiosity,  but  she  did 
not  feel  inclined  to  talk  to  her  yet.  She  wanted  to  be 
alone.  Peggy's  arrival  had  taken  her  by  storm.  She 
had  not  been  able  to  think  of  anything  at  first  except  the 
child's  bodily  needs,  although  even  while  she  attended 
to  these  she  was  receiving  impressions  that  helped  to 
bridge  the  stolen  years.  Six  years  she  had  lost !  Six 
empty  interminable  years  when  she  should  have  watched 
her  child  day  by  day,  taking  pride  in  her  growth,  loving 
her  passionately,  keeping  her  from  harm.  They  could 
never  be  made  good.  Twice  while  she  dined  she  left 
her  dinner  to  look  at  Peggy,  fast  asleep  now,  but  cough- 
ing sometimes  in  her  sleep.  The  child  looked  miserably 
thin  and  ill:  and  that  scared  look  in  her  pretty  eyes  told 
its  tale. 

"I  will  never  let  her  go  back,"  she  said  vehemently 
to  Andrea  when  he  came  in  that  evening.  "She  is  ill. 
She  had  been  badly  treated.  She  shall  never  go  back." 

They  were  sitting  together  on  the  little  tiled  terrace 
that  led  to  the  garden,  and  above  them  the  sky  was  full 
of  stars.  The  air  was  as  bland  as  on  a  midsummer 
night  and  Daphne  needed  no  wrap  over  her  thin  blue 
gown.  She  had  thanked  Andrea  and  made  him  happy 
by  her  thanks,  but  he  saw  that  she  was  not  as  simply 
happy  herself  as  he  had  expected  her  to  be.  Apparently 
there  were  forces  to  reckon  with  that  he  had  not  fore- 


176  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

seen  but  which  she  feared  and  hated.  He  had  never 
seen  her  so  moved,  and  he  had  not  thought  that  she 
could  be  so  bitter  and  so  angry. 

"They  will  try  to  take  her  away  from  me,"  she  ex- 
plained. 

"But  they  will  not  know  that  she  is  with  you,"  argued 
Andrea.  "How  should  they  know?  Besides,"  he  con- 
tinued, "you  say  that  the  step-mother  has  ill-treated 
her.  Therefore  she  cannot  love  her.  Therefore  she 
will  be  glad  that  the  child  has  disappeared.  Perhaps 
she  will  have  trouble  with  the  police.  That  does  not 
matter  to  us." 

The  poor  man  was  disappointed.  He  had  expected 
Daphne's  troubles  to  end  with  Peggy's  arrival :  to  end 
suddenly  and  completely.  She  would  look  astonished 
and  incredulous:  she  would  smile:  she  would  weep  a 
little  over  her  Bambina  and  then  she  would  never  shed 
a  tear  again.  Her  child  and  she  would  be  always  to- 
gether as  a  mother  and  child  should  be :  and  he,  Andrea, 
would  be  their  faithful  friend.  Such  had  been  his  sim- 
ple programme,  and  his  fateful  part  in  it  had  been  carried 
out.  But  apparently  the  complicated  chords  of  Daphne's 
life  could  not  be  played  to  an  end  by  a  trio.  Other 
instruments  threatened  to  come  in  and  disturb  the  melody. 
She  spoke  of  a  man  who  was  guardian  to  her  child. 
She  did  not  know  him,  but  she  said  that  he  had  rights 
refused  to  her,  and  that  she  might  have  difficulties  with 
him. 

"I  do  not  understand  the  law,"  said  Andrea,  "but  I 
know  what  is  just  and  sensible.  You  are  the  only  person 
in  the  wide  world  who  wants  the  child.  You  are  her 
mother.  Therefore  you  must  keep  her.  Everyone  must 
see  it  in  this  way.  If  the  man  comes  here  you  will 
reason  with  him  and  he  will  depart  again." 

Daphne  could  not  accept  his  point  of  view,  but  she 
did  not  try  to  change  it.  At  any  rate,  to-night  Peggy 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  177 

was  with  her,  thanks  to  Andrea,  who  had  done  what  it 
was  impossible  to  do.  Perhaps  other  miracles  would 
follow.  Perhaps,  as  he  said,  no  one  would  trouble  to 
pursue  Peggy,  since  no  one  wanted  her.  Daphne  hung 
over  the  child  before  she  went  to  bed  herself,  and  her 
heart  ached  at  the  thought  of  the  long  years  behind  them. 
She  could  never  know  all  that  had  happened.  She  could 
never  picture  it.  She  could  never  wholly  make  up.  She 
blamed  herself  for  her  folly  as  she  had  never  done 
before:  because  she  had  never  realized  before  that  it 
was  her  child  who  had  paid. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

MRS.  TWISTLETON  had  taken  down  her  rook 
rifle  and  shot  Dingo  in  a  spasm  of  rage.  Directly 
she  had  done  it  she  knew  she  had  made  a  mis- 
take. She  was  not  sorry  for  Peggy  or  for  Dingo,  but 
she  expected  Victor  Gerard  that  afternoon,  and  there 
would  be  explanations.  It  would  be  impossible  to  keep 
Peggy  entirely  out  of  his  sight.  Even  if  she  sent  the 
child  away  at  a  moment's  notice  Victor  would  probably 
go  after  her,  and  then  he  would  hear  what  had  happened 
to  her  dog.  Mrs.  Twistleton  would  be  able  to  point 
to  the  tulip-bed,  if  she  deigned  to  defend  herself  at  all; 
but  as  she  sat  over  the  fire  waiting  for  Victor  she  rather 
wished  Dingo  was  still  alive.  She  had  known  for  some 
time  that  Victor  had  returned  from  Australia  and  was 
coming  to  Beda  Close  this  afternoon,  but  she  had  not 
told  Peggy.  She  had  not  even  told  the  servants  the 
name  of  the  expected  guest,  but  had  ordered  a  room  to 
be  ready  and  sent  the  car  to  the  station  without  giving 
any  particulars:  and  her  servants  knew  better  than  to 
ask.  They  guessed  at  someone  she  favored  because  of 
the  dinner  she  ordered  and  because  she  dressed  herself 
with  care  when  she  came  in  from  her  walk.  She  had 
gone  out  of  deep  mourning  already  and  wore  silvery 
grays  and  purples  a  great  deal:  and  sometimes  white. 
She  had  looked  at  herself  very  carefully  in  the  glass  this 
afternoon  and  felt  moderately  satisfied.  Beyond  doubt 
she  was  a  handsome  woman  still:  on  the  opulent  side, 
but  not  grossly  so.  The  eyes  of  men  still  turned  her 
way  and  would  do  so  for  years  to  come.  But  she  wished 
that  Victor  Gerard  had  been  older.  Fate  had  not  been 

178 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  179 

kind  to  her  in  some  ways.  The  men  who  courted  her 
had  never  been  the  men  by  whom  she  felt  attracted. 
She  had  married  John  Vyell  because  she  did  not  wish 
to  remain  single:  and  then  she  had  married  Henry 
Twistleton  for  his  money:  but  in  neither  case  had  she 
felt  the  least  affection  for  her  husband.  Victor  was 
different.  He  was  very  much  alive  and  a  man:  with 
a  strain  of  hardness  in  him  that  she  respected  and  with 
a  magnetic  presence  that  she  found  alluring.  She  waited 
impatiently  for  his  appearance.  She  listened,  like  a  girl 
expecting  her  lover,  to  the  sounds  of  his  arrival  in  the 
hall.  When  he  came  into  the  room  she  realized  that 
her  ideas  of  him  had  been  the  faint  shadows  of  his 
actual  qualities.  He  looked  browned  by  his  long  sea- 
voyage  and  in  good  spirits.  He  had  the  air  of  a  prosper- 
ous man  and  was  well  dressed.  But  she  thought  he 
looked  younger  than  ever,  and  he  met  her  with  the  civil 
friendliness  that  can  be  disappointing.  However,  they 
sat  down  together  near  the  fire,  and  while  they  had  tea 
talked  of  Victor's  adventures  in  Australia  and  of  the 
want  of  adventure  in  a  house  like  Beda  Close.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  tried  to  find  out  what  Victor's  future  plans 
were,  but  he  said  he  had  none  yet.  He  was  at  a  loose 
end  again.  Then  he  asked  after  Peggy,  and  was  told 
that  she  was  well  but,  as  usual,  troublesome. 

"I  have  let  this  house  for  five  years,"  said  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton. "We  are  going  abroad  in  June." 

"Peggy  too?" 

"Certainly.  I  don't  like  schools  for  children  of  her 
age,  so  there  is  no  alternative:  unless  you  get  married 
and  take  her." 

"That's  not  likely,"  said  Victor.  "I'm  not  a  marrying 
man." 

Mrs.  Twistleton  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  so.  That 
meant,  she  hoped,  that  he  was  still  free:  and  when  a 
man  is  free  anything  may  happen  to  him. 


180  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"I  suppose  you  consent  to  my  taking  her  with  me?" 
she  said.  "Miss  Busby  goes  too.  .  Their  education  will 
not  be  interrupted." 

Victor  hardly  replied.  He  was  thinking.  He  wanted 
to  see  Peggy  before  he  consented  to  her  going  so  far 
away  for  such  a  long  time.  He  did  not  agree  with  Mrs. 
Twistleton  about  schools.  He  thought  Peggy  would  be 
much  happier  at  a  good  school  than  with  her  step- 
mother, and  better  educated.  He  had  not  seen  much 
of  Miss  Busby  but  he  had  taken  her  measure.  She  was 
incompetent  and  feeble.  It  would  give  great  offense  if 
he  kept  Peggy  in  England  and  sent  her  to  school,  but  he 
could  not  help  that.  He  had  the  power  to  do  it,  and  had 
come  here  to  see  how  the  land  lay  and  to  say  that  he 
would  do  it  if  necessary.  He  did  not  want  a  tussle  with 
Mrs.  Twistleton,  but  he  might  have  to  have  one.  No 
doubt  there  was  fight  in  her. 

"If  you  please,  m'm,"  said  Jordan's  deferential  voice 
close  by,  "Miss  Busby  wishes  me  to  say  that  Miss  Peggy 
is  lost." 

The  butler  had  come  into  the  room  unnoticed  and 
reached  the  tea-table  before  he  spoke.  When  he  had 
delivered  his  message  he  turned  to  Victor  and  asked  him 
for  his  keys.  It  was  nearly  seven  by  this  time,  and  from 
the  windows  the  soft  slanting  rain  could  be  seen  veiling 
the  hills. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton.  "Why 
doesn't  Miss  Busby  look  for  her?" 

"We  have  all  looked  everywhere,  m'm :  so  have  Pater- 
son  and  the  other  men  outside.  She  has  been  missing 
since.  .  .  ." 

He  stopped  short  and  looked  hard  at  his  mistress  but 
her  eyes  were  veiled  by  her  heavy  eyelids.  No  one  could 
read  what  was  in  her  mind. 

"Since  when?"  said  Victor,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet: 
and  he  noticed  that  before  the  butler  answered  there 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  181 

was  an  electric  moment  again:  a  moment  that  left  out 
something  probably  bearing  on  Peggy's  disappearance. 

"Since  before  the  schoolroom  tea,"  said  Jordan. 

"Ask  Miss  Busby  to  come  here,"  said  Mrs.  Tvvistleton 
impatiently:  and  Victor  thought  that  the  governess  must 
have  been  waiting  outside,  for  she  appeared  at  once  and 
Mabel  came  with  her.  Miss  Busby  was  in  a  state  of 
weeping  perturbation  and  could  only  give  an  incoherent 
account  of  the  steps  she  had  taken  for  an  hour  past  to 
find  Peggy.  She  had  not  been  alarmed  at  first,  she  said, 
not  even  when  Peggy  failed  to  come  to  tea. 

"Of  course  I  knew  she  must  be  dreadfully  upset," 
she  murmured.  "And  none  of  us  know  what  has  become 
of  the  body.  If  only  we  could  find  the  body " 

"What  body?"  said  Victor  brusquely. 

"Dingo's  body,"  said  Miss  Busby,  with  an  hysterical 
catch  in  her  throat.  "I  must  say,  dear  Mrs.  Twistleton, 
that  it  upset  Mabel  and  me  to  see  it.  No  doubt  it  had 
to  be  done.  Peggy  was  in  one  of  her  unmanageable 
moods,  and  I  had  just  told  her  that  if  she  did  not  behave 
herself  she  would  not  be  taken  to  Italy.  Upon  which, 
she  tore  out  of  the  room  like  a  mad  thing,  with  Dingo 
after  her." 

"And  chivied  him  through  and  through  the  tulip-bed," 
narrated  Mabel,  addressing  Victor  rather  than  her 
mother.  "The  tulips  are  napoo,  I'm  afraid." 

"But  why  did  she  do  it?"  asked  Victor.  "I  can't  see 
what  motive  she  had." 

"Can't  you?"  said  Mabel,  with  the  prim,  self-satisfied 
air  that  always  made  Victor  wish  someone  would  shake 
her.  "I  can.  She  didn't  want  to  go  to  Italy  and  leave 
Dingo  behind:  and  unfortunately  Miss  Busby  had  just 
told  her  that  she  would  be  left  behind  if  she  was 
naughty." 

"I  thought  it  would  have  a  good  effect,  not  a  bad 
one,"  wept  Miss  Busby,  glancing  with  appeal  at  the 


182  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

sphinx-like  face  of  her  employer.  "But  I  was  horrified 
when  I  saw  what  she  was  doing." 

"You  went  to  the  window?"  said  Victor,  trying  to 
make  out  what  had  happened. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Busby.  "Mabel  and  I  were  both  at 
the  window,  but  we  turned  away  and  sat  down.  We 
were  a  little  unstrung." 

"I  was  quite  unstrung,"  said  Mabel,  smoothing  a  fold 
of  her  white  frock.  "I  was  not  fond  of  Dingo  because 
he  killed  poor  Carlo,  but  I  didn't  like  seeing  him  wriggle 
after  he  was  shot.  It  was  unpleasant." 

"He  was  shot!"  said  Victor. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence  in  the  room.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  did  not  raise  her  eyelids  or  relax  the  obstinate^ 
set  of  her  mouth:  nor  did  she  speak  yet. 

"Was  he  shot  from  the  garden  or  the  house?"  asked 
Victor. 

Mrs.  Twistleton  raised  her  eyes  then  and  met  his 
steadily. 

"He  was  shot  from  the  house,"  she  said.  "He  had 
become  impossible.  Besides,  we  could  not  take  him  to 
Italy,  and  I  don't  care  to  leave  animals  with  strangers. 
You  never  know  how  they  will  be  treated.  I  am  sur- 
prised, Miss  Busby,  that  you  waited  so  long  before  you 
made  inquiries  about  Peggy.  Didn't  you  see  which  direc- 
tion she  took  when  she  left  the  front  of  the  house?" 

But  Miss  Busby  had  seen  nothing  and  knew  nothing. 
She  left  the  room  tearfully,  followed  by  Mabel. 

"I'll  have  a  look  round  the  place  myself,"  said  Victor, 
when  they  had  gone. 

"I'm  not  in  the  least  uneasy,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 
"The  child  can't  be  far  off  and  she  knows  her  way  every- 
where. She  will  come  back  when  she  gets  hungry." 

"I  wish  I  could  feel  sure  of  that,"  said  Victor. 

"She  has  done  the  same  thing  before.  She  got  as  far 
as  the  top  of  the  hause  once  and  we  had  search  parties 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  183 

out  looking  for  her.  She  was  smaller  then,  and  her  father 
got  anxious." 

"But  what  was  she  doing?" 

"Trying  to  run  away.  Have  you  never  heard  of  chil- 
dren doing  that?  Didn't  you  ever  do  it  yourself?" 

Mrs.  Twistleton  was  plausible  but  Victor  did  not  feel 
persuaded  by  her.  It  was  pouring  rain  now,  and  she 
looked  at  him  with  derisive  amusement  when  he  in- 
sisted on  going  out  into  such  weather:  nor  did  she  seem 
inclined  to  take  any  active  steps  to  find  Peggy. 

"I  expect  you'll  come  across  her  if  you  do  go  out," 
she  said.  "Look  in  the  orchard  houses.  She  sometimes 
hides  in  one  of  them  for  warmth.  At  least,  she  used  to 
when  she  knew  where  to  find  the  keys.  I  believe  Pater- 
son  takes  them  home  with  him  ever  since  she  left  the 
door  open  and  killed  all  the  peach  blossom." 

Victor  went  out  into  the  rain  and  liked  it  better  to- 
night than  breathing  the  same  air  as  Mrs.  Twistleton. 
He  had  kept  a  guard  on  his  tongue  so  far,  but  it  had  not 
been  easy.  Her  callousness  horrified  him,  and  he  felt 
anxious  and  angry.  Peggy  must  be  somewhere  near, 
dead  or  alive:  but  how  was  he  or  anyone  else  to  find 
her?  He  went  straight  to  Low  Tarn  and  almost  at  once 
saw  the  little  newly-made  grave  with  the  spade  thrown 
down  beside  it.  He  hallooed  to  Peggy  then,  and  was 
answered  by  Paterson  and  Lloyd,  the  new  chauffeur,  on 
the  lookout  too.  They  knew  what  had  happened  and 
said  what  Victor  had  not  allowed  himself  to  say  or  even 
to  think.  Nothing  could  be  done  to-night,  but  to-morrow 
the  tarn  must  be  dragged  and  then  the  lake.  Meanwhile 
none  of  the  men  on  the  property  would  go  to  bed.  They 
and  others  would  spend  the  night  searching  on  the  fells. 
Victor  said  he  would  join  them:  but  before  doing  so  he 
went  back  to  the  house  and  saw  Mrs.  Twistleton  again. 
She  was  still  sitting  over  the  fire  with  a  book  in  her 
hands. 


184  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"I  think  we  ought  to  'phone  to  every  house  near  and 
to  the  police  at  Senwick,"  he  said. 

"We'll  do  that  to-morrow,"  said  she. 

"The  sooner  the  better." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  She  will  be  back  before  it 
is  dark,  and  we  shall  have  made  a  fuss  about  nothing. 
It's  time  now  to  get  ready  for  dinner." 

"I'm  not  coming  to  dinner,"  said  Victor. 

She  stared  at  him. 

"I'm  going  to  search  the  fells,"  he  explained;  "about 
a  dozen  of  us  are  going  in  different  directions." 

"But  you  must  have  something  to  eat." 

"Jordan  will  give  me  something  to  take  with  me.  I 
don't  want  to  lose  any  time.  By  the  way  ...  I  found 
the  grave." 

"What  grave?" 

"Dingo's.     Peggy  buried  him  near  Low  Tarn." 

Mrs.  Twistleton's  eyelids  fluttered  slightly  but  she  did 
not  raise  her  eyes  just  then. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "Dingo  was  only  a  dog.  I  don't 
remember  that  you  were  much  disturbed  when  he  killed 
Carlo.  On  the  contrary.  You  persuaded  my  husband 
not  to  have  him  destroyed." 

"It  was  not  Mr.  Twistleton  who  meant  to  destroy  him," 
said  Victor,  who  had  a  rough  tongue  at  times  when  he 
was  angry. 

"And  Peggy  had  run  away  then,"  continued  Mrs. 
Twistleton.  "Don't  you  remember?  You  brought  her 
back." 

"I  wonder  if  she  can  have  taken  that  same  path,"  said 
Victor.  "She  may  be  at  the  Hallinwater  Hotel  by  this 
time.  But  what  can  she  expect  to  do  there?  She  has 
no  money,  I  suppose?" 

"None  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton.  "But  natures  like 
hers  don't  look  ahead.  They  run  headlong  ...  as  her 
mother  did." 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  185 

"You  knew  her  mother?" 

"Very  well." 

She  rose  lazily  from  her  chair  and  looked  at  the  young 
man  still  standing  restlessly  beside  the  fire. 

"You  had  better  have  some  dinner,"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  and  manner  reminded  Victor  of  a  cat  that  purrs 
and  rubs  itself  against  you  when  it  is  in  a  friendly  mood. 
"If  eleven  others  are  looking  for  the  tiresome  child.  .  .  ." 

But  as  it  happened,  Victor  did  not  like  cats  and  did 
like  Peggy.  Mrs.  Twistleton's  cajolery  made  no  appeal 
to  him,  and  without  much  care  for  her  feelings  he  said 
again  that  he  was  going  out  at  once  and  would  stay  out 
all  night  if  necessary.  However,  rather  against  his  own 
judgment,  he  agreed  to  wait  till  the  morning  before 
stirring  up  the  police. 

In  country  places  news  flies  from  mouth  to  mouth  and 
spreads  quickly:  so  by  next  day  everyone  knew  that 
Peggy  Twistleton  was  missing  from  Beda  Close.  While 
Victor  sat  at  breakfast  with  Mrs.  Twistleton  the  news 
came  through  on  the  'phone  that  she  had  been  seen  on 
the  steamer  with  a  strange  foreign-looking  man  who 
carried  a  violin  and  again  at  the  station  waiting  for  the 
London  train.  Victor  spent  the  morning  at  Senwick 
trying  to  communicate  with  the  London  police  and  put 
them  on  the  child's  trail.  When  he  went  back  to  Beda 
Close  he  had  achieved  nothing,  and  was  in  the  mood  to 
curse  himself  for  not  having  done  last  night  that  which 
he  had  left  to  do  this  morning.  If  he  had  telegraphed 
a  description.  .  .  . 

"How  could  you?"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton.  "You  can't 
describe  a  person  whose  very  existence  is  unknown  to 
you.  Naturally  we  all  thought  she  had  done  what  she 
had  done  before  and  was  on  the  fells.  It  never  struck 
me  that  her  mother  had  sent  someone  to  kidnap  her." 

"What!"  shouted  Victor. 

"That  is  what  has  happened.    The  elder  Miss  Pinkney 


186  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

has  been  here.  She  traveled  with  the  man.  He  asked 
her  to  point  out  the  house  and  told  her  that  he  lived  at 
Siena.  Daphne  went  there  more  than  a  year  ago.  I 
generally  hear  where  she  is  because  poor  Geoffry  Cover- 
dale's  brother  lives  in  Manchester  and  sometimes,  when 
I  go  there  I  see  him.  I'm  surprised  really  that  Daphne 
never  did  this  before." 

"But  she  has  no  rights,"  said  Victor,  who  was  relieved 
to  find  that  Peggy  was  alive  but  felt  uncertain  what  to 
do  next. 

"None  whatever,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

FGGY  had  been  nearly  a  month  in  Siena  and  Daphne 
ivas  beginning  to  hope  that  no  one  would  come 
after  her.  At  first  she  had  been  inclined  to  go 
into  hiding  with  the  child,  and  if  possible  cover  her 
tracks.  But  it  is  notoriously  difficult  to  hide  unless  you 
can  break  suddenly  and  completely  with  all  the  circum- 
stances, postal  and  financial,  on  which  your  daily  life 
depends.  Besides,  Peggy  needed  rest  and  careful  treat- 
ment :  and  she  needed  clothes :  and  clothes  take  time. 
Daphne  knew  exactly  how  to  dress  her  because  she  had 
watched  other  children  so  much  when  she  was  thinking 
of  her  own  child.  The  great  heat  had  come  already 
although  it  was  only  May,  and  Peggy  must  have  the 
daintiest  white  underwear  procurable  as  well  as  a  great 
many  little  washing  frocks,  some  all  white  and  some 
embroidered  or  printed  with  a  dash  of  color.  A  few 
were  bought  ready-made  but  others  were  ordered,  and 
some  Daphne  embroidered  herself  at  home.  Andrea 
complained  that  she  did  not  spend  as  much  time  as  usual 
on  her  music  now,  but  in  reality  he  reaped  his  reward 
when  he  sat  with  Daphne  and  Peggy  in  the  little  garden 
anu  watched  Daphne  embroidering  in  white  on  blue  linen 
for  her  child. 

"I  want  a  blue  frock  as  well  as  the  white  ones,"  Peggy 
had  said.  "Celia  Asygarth  had  a  blue  frock  embroidered 
with  white.  Her  mother  made  it,  and  it  was  lovely. 
Do  you  think  you  could  make  me  one?" 

Of  course  Daphne  could.  There  was  nothing  Peggy 
wanted  that  she  should  not  have  if  Daphne  could  get  it 
for  her.  She  must  be  dressed  better  than  anyone  else 

187 


i88  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

and  tended  more  carefully  and  enveloped  with  a  yet 
deeper  affection  than  other  children :  and  even  then  noth- 
ing could  make  up  for  the  past  years:  Daphne  hung  over 
her  child  with  such  burning  affection  and  regret  that  for 
the  time  she  lost  her  balance  a  little  and  forgot  that  her 
business  was  to  educate  as  well  as  to  cherish.  Her 
possession  was  still  insecure,  her  indignation  increasing 
as  day  by  day  the  picture  of  Peggy's  life  at  Beda  Close 
became  fuller  and  more  hateful.  She  felt  as  one  does 
who  fiercely  takes  the  beloved  in  his  arms,  proposing  to 
fight  death  with  affection  and  win.  She  could  do  nothing 
yet  but  love  Peggy  and  tenderly  indulge  her,  for  the 
child  still  had  the  scared  look  in  her  eyes  at  times  that 
Daphne  could  not  bear  to  see.  But  you  would  hardly 
have  known  her  now  for  the  little  ragamuffin  who  had 
arrived  with  Andrea  a  month  ago.  Her  cough  was  much 
better,  her  face  had  filled  out  already,  and  she  went  well 
and  cleanly  clad.  The  earth  was  hers  and  everyone  in 
her  mother's  household  was  her  slave.  In  the  morning 
old  Giuditta  brought  her  her  bath  and  one  of  her  new 
frocks,  murmuring  pretty  Italian  greetings  as  she  did  so 
that  Peggy  was  beginning  to  understand  and  return. 
When  she  was  dressed  she  had  breakfast  in  the  big,  cool 
dining-room  with  her  mother:  a  delicious  breakfast  of 
eggs  and  honey  and  bread-and-butter.  Then  they  went 
out  together,  and  though  the  shops  and  the  dressmakers 
were  rather  dull,  the  streets  were  always  entertaining. 
There  were  the  people  who  hawked  salted  pumpkin-seeds 
in  three  tiered  baskets  lined  with  green  paper.  Daphne 
did  not  want  Peggy  to  eat  the  seeds  because  of  her 
cough,  but  she  let  her  buy  some  once  just  to  try.  Peggy 
had  watched  men,  women  and  children  eat  them  the 
other  day  when  she  had  been  sitting  under  the  trees  in 
the  Lizza.  They  just  split  them  and  then  they  ate  the 
seed  inside.  Peggy  got  one  of  her  pockets  full  for  a 
penny  and  before  long  had  filled  the  other  pocket  with 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  189 

ripe  cherries  bought  from  an  old  man  with  a  big  barrow. 
Daphne  had  tried  to  get  her  past  the  barrow  and  re- 
minded her  that  there  were  cherries  at  home  on  their 
own  tree.  But  Peggy  pointed  out  that  those  on  the 
barrow  were  a  slightly  different  shade  of  red  and  might 
have  a  different  flavor.  So  Daphne  bought  her  some  but 
told  her  not  to  stain  her  clean  frock.  Unfortunately  by 
the  time  they  got  to  the  dressmaker's  a  few  of  the  cherries 
that  must  have  been  over-ripe  had  made  a  stain :  but 
no  one  scolded  or  seemed  to  mind.  The  dressmaker  said 
that  by  great  good  fortune  she  had  an  iron  hot  and  that 
her  sister  should  wash  out  the  stain  and  iron  the  washed 
bit  while  Peggy  tried-on.  She  also  produced  a  plate 
for  the  cherries  while  Peggy  ate  them  and  cracked  her 
pumpkin-seeds.  Trying-on  was  a  tiresome  process  and 
made  you  feel  fidgety  and  inclined  to  cough :  or  perhaps 
it  was  the  pumpkin-seeds  that  made  you  cough. 

"I'm  thirsty,"  said  Peggy,  when  they  got  into  the 
streets  again.  "I  should  like  some  raspberry  syrup  and 
water." 

So  Daphne  took  her  into  Mosca's  tea-rooms  and  let 
her  have  a  glass  of  raspberry  syrup  and  water  with 
grated  ice  in  it.  Peggy  sucked  it  through  a  straw  and 
did  not  ask  for  cakes  with  it,  because  if  you  eat  cakes 
at  eleven  you  are  not  as  hungry  as  you  ought  to  be  at 
lunch,  and  that  seems  to  worry  everyone.  Even  old 
Giuditta  looked  worried  and  threw  up  her  hands  when 
Peggy  did  not  eat  enough.  The  streets  in  Siena  were 
not  a  bit  like  the  streets  in  Manchester  or  Senwick.  They 
were  all  paved  and  had  no  sidewalks.  The  houses  were 
very  high  and  old,  and  many  of  them  had  been  palaces, 
but  were  now  let  out  in  flats  or  used  as  business  premises. 
The  street  in  which  Mosca  had  his  shop  was  generally 
crowded  and  noisy,  because  carriages  and  motor-cars 
went  through  it  and  country  carts  drawn  by  three  mules. 
Usually  a  cart  had  one  big  mule  and  two  smaller  ones, 


190  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

and  as  they  ambled  along  they  munched  green-stuff  con- 
tained in  nosebags  made  of  rope. 

"Could  we  have  a  cart  with  three  mules  ?"  said  Peggy. 
"I  should  like  one  very  much.  I  love  mules.  They  have 
such  friendly  sly  eyes.  I  should  like  a  cart  with  a  big 
square  hamper  behind  that  you  can  sit  in." 

Daphne  tried  to  explain  that  only  peasants  used  such 
carts  and  was  glad  when  a  girl  carrying  green  parrakeets 
in  a  wicker  cage  diverted  Peggy's  attention :  because  she 
knew  that  if  the  child  made  up  her  mind  that  she  wanted 
mules  she  would  probably  end  by  getting  them.  But 
for  the  moment  the  parrakeets  sufficed.  Peggy  explained 
that  Andrea  had  told  her  about  them  and  would  doubt- 
lessly buy  her  two  were  he  on  the  spot,  and  that  if  you 
let  an  opportunity  slip  it  may  never  come  again.  So 
they  went  back  to  the  flat  by  shady,  quiet  by-streets 
carrying  the  wicker  cage,  and  Peggy  could  not  sleep  that 
afternoon  because  she  was  thinking  so  hard  about  the 
birds.  They  were  not  like  Dingo.  They  could  not  go 
for  walks  with  her  and  love  her  as  he  had  done.  In 
fact,  they  were  rather  stupid  compared  with  him,  but 
they  were  alive  and  very  beautiful. 

"I  don't  want  another  dog  just  yet,"  she  explained 
to  her  mother.  "I  should  like  the  mules  and  I  like  the 
birds.  But  I  could  not  have  had  another  dog  when 
Dingo  was  alive.  It  would  have  hurt  his  feelings:  and 
for  all  I  know  it  might  hurt  them  now  that  he  is  dead. 
I  wish  you  had  known  Dingo  and  I  wish  you  knew  Mr. 
Gerard." 

Daphne  did  not  tell  Peggy  so,  but  she  fervently  hoped 
that  she  would  never  know  Mr.  Gerard.  He  had  been 
kind  to  the  child,  but  he  had  rights  over  her  that  the 
mother  did  not  possess,  and  all  through  the  winter  he 
had  deserted  his  post.  It  had  been  touch  and  go  with 
Peggy.  The  doctors  said  so.  Another  chill,  a  little  more 
neglect  would  have  finished  her.  She  still  needed  the 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  191 

utmost  care  and  would  do  so  for  a  long  time.  Later  on 
Daphne  meant  to  take  her  to  one  of  the  summer  places 
in  the  Apennines,  but  not  until  after  the  Palio  in  July. 
She  wanted  her  own  doctor  to  watch  the  child  for  some 
weeks  longer,  and  Peggy,  having  heard  tell  of  the  Palio, 
must  needs  see  it.  She  was  a  very  intelligent  child, 
Daphne  thought,  but  she  was  ignorant  and  had  been 
badly  taught.  She  was  picking  up  Italian  by  ear,  as 
children  do,  and  she  was  learning  a  little  about  the 
history  of  Siena  through  the  stories  Andrea  and  Daphne 
told  her.  She  was  taken  to  the  Duomo  one  Sunday  to 
see  rows  and  rows  of  children  younger  than  herself 
dressed  like  brides  for  their  confirmation,  and  as  they 
came  away  they  met  the  contrada  of  the  Oca,  and  for  the 
first  time  saw  the  Alfieri  twirling  their  flags  about  their 
bodies  and  hurling  them  high  into  the  air  and  catching 
them  again  with  skill.  After  that,  whenever  she  heard 
the  drum  in  the  street,  she  was  in  a  fever  to  be  out  with 
it,  watching  the  flag-throwers  and  the  medieval  dresses 
worn  by  the  pages.  It  was  explained  to  her  that  every 
Sunday  one  of  the  seventeen  wards  of  Siena  sent  its 
represen stives  to  parade  the  streets,  and  she  got  to  know 
the  different  emblems  by  which  they  were  known,  and 
to  hope  that  the  oca  or  the  istrice  would  win,  because 
she  was  an  istrice  by  right  of  domicile  and  Uncle  Andrea 
was  an  oca.  She  told  her  mother  that  she  never  wanted 
to  go  to  England  again  where  children  were  sent  to  bed 
early  and  missed  all  the  fun.  Daphne  was  letting  her 
sleep  for  some  hours  in  the  afternoon  and  then  go  out 
late  at  night,  as  Italian  children  do,  because  when  the 
great  heat  came  Peggy  drooped  at  once.  She  could  not 
stand  the  fierce  glare  of  the  sun  and  the  stuffy  air  in  the 
narrow,  sun-baked  streets,  but  she  revived  after  dinner 
when  Andrea  and  Daphne  took  her  to  the  Lizza  to  see 
the  fireflies.  She  had  seen  a  glow-worm  at  home  now 
and  again,  but  she  had  never  seen  fireflies  darting 


192  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

amongst  the  plants  and  bushes,  specks  of  brilliant  light 
that  made  her  think  of  fairies.  There  were  a  few  in 
their  own  garden  sometimes,  but  there  were  more  on 
the  Lizza.  Besides,  everyone  was  on  the  Lizza,  and  if 
you  were  lucky  you  might  meet  Lydia  Bianchi,  who  was 
just  your  age  and  liked  ices.  There  were  ices  to  be  had 
late  at  night,  and  Uncle  Andrea  said  they  did  no  harm. 
Children  much  younger  than  Peggy  were  to  be  seen  there 
enjoying  them. 

"You  had  soup  and  chicken  and  Giuditta's  cream  cakes 
not  long  ago,"  said  Daphne  one  night  when  Andrea  had 
not  been  able  to  go  with  them.  "I  don't  think  you  can 
really  need  ices  now." 

"Not  ices,"  said  Peggy.  "Only  one.  It's  a  thirsty 
night:  and  there  is  Lydia  .  .  .  there  in  a  pink  frock. 
Shall  I  ask  her  to  come  with  us?  She  says  gelato  is  a 
diletto  for  her,  and  she  only  has  them  sometimes.  When 
her  brother,  who  is  in  the  navy,  comes  home  he  takes  her 
to  Meucci's  and  gives  her  a  grande  that  costs  i  .60.  Shall 
we  go  to  there  now  ?  It's  quite  near  really,  and  I've  had 
no  walk  to-day,  and  afterwards  we  will  go  to  the  Fortezza 
because  you  like  the  view.  It  has  been  so  hot  all  day, 
and  now  it  is  cool.  I'm  very  fond  of  Lydia,  especially 
when  something  doesn't  please  her  and  she  croons  about 
it  to  her  mother.  She  has  such  a  dear  little  funny  voice 
and  I  often  understand  what  she  says  now." 

It  really  seemed  as  if  ices  did  not  hurt  Peggy  even  late 
at  night,  so  why  should  she  not  have  them?  and  why 
should  she  not  invite  Lydia  to  come  to  Meucci's  too, 
since  Lydia  was  a  charming  child,  the  daughter  of 
Daphne's  doctor?  He  was  in  the  Lizza  to-night  with 
his  wife,  and  he  only  smiled  and  bowed  when  Daphne 
spoke  to  him,  and  let  Lydia  go.  Daphne  supposed  that 
Peggy  was  being  rather  spoiled,  but  wasn't  it  good  for 
her  after  having  been  harshly  treated  for  so  long?  It 
must  be  good  for  her  to  be  happy,  and  she  was  naturally 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  193 

a  sweet-tempered  child,  never  made  fractious  or  selfish 
by  indulgence.  So  the  two  children  went  to  Meucci's  with 
Daphne  and  had  big  ices  half  vanilla  and  half  chocolate: 
and  then  they  all  went  back  to  the  Lizza,  leaving  Lydia 
with  her  parents  on  the  way.  The  little  park  was  full 
of  people  still,  but  when  Daphne  and  Peggy  got  to  the 
point  of  the  fortress  and  sat  down  on  the  stone  seat  there 
they  had  it  to  themselves.  Across  intensely  cultivated 
land  they  looked  at  Siena  on  her  hills,  her  ancient  towers 
and  houses  huddling  up  to  the  foot  of  the  Duomo  that 
is  her  glory  and  her  crown.  In  the  foreground,  stark 
and  plain,  rose  the  huge  church  of  S.  Domenica  and  to 
the  right  the  cupola  of  the  Carmine.  The  Mangia  Tower 
was  hidden,  but  they  had  seen  it  a  moment  ago  clear 
against  the  deep  starlit  sky.  The  city  was  lighted  now 
and  looked  aglow.  Beyond,  to  westwards,  were  the 
mountains,  with  cypresses,  some  in  groups,  some  singly, 
like  sentinels  on  the  way  to  the  mountains.  Everywhere 
in  the  undulating  open  country  on  which  the  sun  poured 
day  by  day  there  were  olive  trees  and  vines :  while  the 
sky  behind  Daphne  was  still  flushed  with  red,  a  promise 
of  fine  weather  for  the  morrow. 

"Shall  we  live  here  for  ever  and  for  ever  till  we  die," 
said  Peggy,  "and  come  here  every  night  and  look  at  the 
view  ?" 

Her  thin  little  body  had  snuggled  close  up  to  her 
mother  and  Daphne  had  put  one  arm  round  her. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  warm?"  she  said  anxiously. 
"You  mustn't  get  a  chill." 

"I'm  as  warm  as  pie,"  said  Peggy,  borrowing  a  simile 
from  Mrs.  Butterfield,  "especially  when  your  arm  is 
round  me.  How  happy  we  are,  Mummy,  aren't  we? 
Tell  me  about  the  place  we  are  going  to  after  the  Palio. 
Will  there  be  any  children  there?" 

"Ever  so  many,"  said  Daphne,  becoming  conscious  at 
the  same  moment  that  they  were  not  to  be  by  themselves 


194  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

any  longer.  Someone  was  approaching  rapidly,  someone 
who  walked  with  a  quick,  firm  step.  As  he  came  into 
sight  she  saw  him  clearly  enough  to  make  out  that  he 
was  probably  an  Englishman  and  young.  He  walked  as 
her  countrymen  did,  and  she  thought  he  was  dressed 
as  they  were,  in  tweeds.  He  came  to  a  halt  opposite 
them  and  looked  hard  at  Peggy. 

"Well,  Peggy!"  he  said,  and  before  Daphne  had 
realized  what  was  happening  Peggy  had  given  a  scream 
of  delight,  slipped  to  her  feet,  and  was  apparently  making 
a  determined  effort  to  put  herself  into  the  man's  arms. 

"It's  Mr.  Gerard!"  she  cried  aloud.  "Mummy,  it's  Mr. 
Gerard !" 

Daphne  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  She  sat  there 
quietly,  the  chill  of  misery  within  her,  sick  at  heart  and 
afraid. 

"May  I  sit  down?"  said  Victor,  and  Daphne  liked 
his  voice  and  his  manner :  both  were  courteous  and  kind. 
She  could  not  see  him  very  clearly  in  the  half-light,  nor 
could  he  see  much  of  her,  but  he  got  an  impression  from 
her  frozen  silence.  His  task  was  going  to  be  a  hateful 
one,  but  of  course  he  must  carry  it  through. 

"I'll  sit  between  you  and  talk  to  you  both,"  said  Peggy, 
"or  would  you  rather  talk  to  each  other?  I  thought  I 
was  never  going  to  see  you  again,  Mr.  Gerard.  They 
told  me  you  had  gone  to  Australia." 

"I  did  go  there,  but  I've  come  back,"  said  Victor. 

"Why  have  you  come  to  Siena?" 

"I've  come  for  you." 

"But  you  can't  have  me.  Mummy  wants  me.  Don't 
you,  Mummy?  You  could  have  had  me  a  long  time  ago, 
and  then  you  said  you  didn't  want  me.  Don't  you 
remember  ?" 

"I  don't  particularly  want  you  now,  but  I'm  afraid 
you'll  have  to  come  with  me,"  said  Victor. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

VICTOR  knew  that  Daphne  had  left  her  husband 
for  a  younger  man  and  in  doing  so  had  deserted 
her  child.  That  was  all  he  knew  about  her,  and 
he  judged  her  hardly.  He  had  more  respect,  he  thought, 
for  women  of  Mrs.  Warren's  profession  than  for  those 
women  who  undertake  duties  and  lightly  throw  them 
over.  If  there  had  been  no  child  he  could  have  for- 
given her,  but  he  understood  that  Peggy's  little  life  had 
been  a  scramble  and  that  she  did  not  get  on  well  with 
her  step-mother,  to  whom,  nevertheless,  he  must  now 
insist  on  her  returning.  He  hated  the  whole  business, 
but  it  had  to  be  carried  through,  and  he  did  not  expect 
hearts  to  be  broken.  Peggy  must  do  as  she  was  told, 
and  a  woman  who  leaves  her  child  for  her  lover  must 
be  heartless  or  capricious :  probably  capricious.  This 
sudden  abduction  of  the  child  after  quiescence  for  nearly 
six  years  looked  like  it. 

He  could  not  see  her  clearly  and  she  had  not  spoken 
yet.  She  sat  there  as  if  she  was  frozen,  holding  the 
child  tightly  to  her  and  looking  not  at  him  but  at  the 
lighted  city  on  its  hills.  He  sat  down  on  the  other  side 
of  Peggy  and  spoke  to  Daphne. 

"Peggy  has  told  you  who  I  am,"  he  began. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  Her  voice  trembled  a  little  but  it 
was  sweet  and  low:  a  voice  that  stole  upon  you  and  was 
not  what  he  expected.  A  woman  who  first  marries  an 
old  man  for  his  money  and  then  runs  away  with  a  young 
one  has  no  business  with  such  a  voice.  Her  speech, 
like  her  conduct,  should  have  been  hard.  He  would 

J95 


196  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

have  known  how  to  deal  with  that.  He  could  be  hard 
when  people  deserved  it. 

"We  must  talk  things  over,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  she  again;  "but  not  here.  If  you  will 
come  and  see  me  to-morrow  I  shall  be  glad  to  talk  to 
you." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  still  keeping  Peggy  with  her. 
Victor  felt  himself  gently  dismissed,  and  asked  himself 
if  he  was  a  fool  to  allow  it. 

"You  will  be  there,  to-morrow?"  he  said,  keeping  at 
her  side. 

She  bowed  in  assent  but  did  not  speak  again :  while 
Peggy  caught  his  hand  and  chattered  to  him. 

"I'm  very  happy  here,"  she  said;  "I  couldn't  possibly 
go  away,  not  even  with  you,  Mr.  Gerard.  My  cough  is 
better.  It  was  very  bad  all  the  winter  after  you  went 
to  Australia.  I'm  learning  Italian  and  I  have  two  green 
love-birds  in  a  wicker  cage.  We  have  a  cherry-tree  in 
our  garden  and  I  gather  the  cherries  myself:  I'll  get 
you  some  when  you  come  to  see  us.  Do  you  know 
that  Dingo  is  dead?  .  .  .  Poor  Dingo!  Uncle  Andrea 
and  I  buried  him  and  Uncle  Andrea  played  a  funeral 
march  over  his  grave.  She  killed  him  just  as  she  killed 
Ada  Dixon's  kitten.  I  told  you  she  liked  killing  things, 
but  you  wouldn't  believe  it.  Mummy  won't  let  me  talk 
about  her  now  and  says  I  must  forget.  I  do  try,  but 
I  can't  ever  forget  Dingo.  When  he  had  been  shot  he 
looked  at  me,  and  nearly  every  night  when  I'm  going 
to  sleep  I  see  his  eyes.  I  believe  he  thought  I  had  done 
it.  I  shouldn't  mind  so  much  if  I  was  quite  sure  he 
knew  now." 

"What  time  shall  I  come  to-morrow?"  said  Victor  to 
Daphne  over  Peggy's  head. 

"Come  early,"  she  said;  and  then,  after  a  moment's 
consideration,  she  added,  "Will  you  come  in  now?" 

"Yes,    I   will,"   said    Victor,    and    walked   with    them 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  197 

through  the  city  to  Daphne's  flat.  The  chief  streets 
were  crowded  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  but  Daphne  led 
them  by  quiet  streets,  under  ancient  archways,  dimly 
lighted  and  reminiscent  of  tragedies  played  in  their 
shadow  long  ago.  She  opened  the  door  of  her  flat 
herself,  but  old  Giuditta  appeared  at  once  and  took  Peggy 
off  to  bed.  Daphne  went  into  her  sitting-room  and 
turned  on  the  light.  Then  Victor  saw  her  more  plainly 
than  he  had  done  yet,  for  as  they  had  walked  through 
the  city  she  had  turned  her  face  from  him.  He  saw  now 
that  she  looked  young  and  innocent  and  most  unhappy. 
He  wished  she  had  been  a  different  woman  or  else  that 
he  had  never  undertaken  to  fight  her.  What  a  fool  he 
had  been!  However,  he  was  not  the  law  of  England 
or  even  its  recognized  interpreter:  nor  was  he  in  any 
sense  responsible  for  the  law.  He  could  make  that  clear, 
he  supposed.  What  a  jolly  room  this  was !  Spacious, 
dignified,  not  crammed  with  stuff  no  one  wants.  Victor 
hated  rooms  that  were  over-full.  He  had  taken  a  seat 
opposite  Daphne  and  was  watching  her.  She  had  thrown 
off  a  light  cloak  she  had  worn  out  of  doors  and  he  saw 
that  her  frock  was  blue,  the  blue  of  sapphires.  Her  eyes 
were  tragic  to-night,  but  she  was  trying  hard  for  com- 
posure. She  had  beautiful  slim  white  hands  that  were 
loosely  folded  in  her  lap:  but  they  betrayed  more  than 
she  wished  them  to  betray  at  times.  So  did  her  bare 
slender  throat  when  she  tried  to  speak.  He  hoped  she 
would  not  cry:  but  she  did  not  look  like  a  woman  who 
cried. 

"You  want  to  take  my  cHld  from  me?"  she  began. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  must,"  said  Victor. 

"Why  must  you  ?" 

"It's  the  law." 

"I  don't  care  that  for  the  law,"  said  Daphne,  and 
snapped  her  fingers.  She  spoke  with  fire,  too,  and  her 
eyes  began  to  look  like  Peggy's. 


198  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Women  never  do,"  said  Victor  tritely. 

"A  law  that  tears  a  child  from  its  mother  is  a  bad 
one." 

That  was  like  a  woman  too,  thought  Victor:  to  talk 
of  a  child  being  torn  from  its  mother  when,  in  this  case 
at  any  rate,  the  mother  had  walked  out  of  the  house, 
leaving  her  child  behind. 

"Laws  have  to  be  obeyed,"  he  pointed  out. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  deserted  Peggy?"  she  said, 
starting  on  a  new  talk:  one  he  had  no  desire  to  follow. 
He  was  not  there  to  act  as  her  judge  but  only  to  dis- 
charge the  duties  laid  upon  him  by  Mr.  Twistleton's  will. 

"I  was  away  at  the  time,"  he  began  with  some  em- 
barrassment. 

"I  went  back  to  her,"  said  Daphne.  "I  went  back  to 
her:  but  my  husband  would  not  let  me  in." 

Victor  did  not  quite  know  what  to  say,  so  he  looked 
thoughtful  and  said  nothing.  It  was  possible  that  Mr. 
Twistleton  had  behaved  harshly  and  unjustly,  but  it  was 
possible  too  that  he  had  felt  himself  irreparably  ag- 
grieved. He  remembered  what  Mrs.  Butterfield  had 
told  him  about  Daphne  standing  in  the  snow  outside  the 
house  and  begging  in  vain  to  have  her  child :  and  that 
picture  took  on  different  colors  now  that  he  stood  face 
to  face  with  her,  receiving  the  multiple  and  complicated 
impressions  only  to  be  given  in  personal  intercourse. 

"You  know  that  she  can  come  back  to  you  when  she 
is  sixteen?"  he  said,  and  was  aware  at  once  that  what 
he  said  sounded  hollow  and  foolish. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do  with  her  if  I  let  her 
go?"  she  asked. 

"There  is  no  'if  about  it,"  said  Victor,  who  was  get- 
ting rather  angry.  "I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  let  her  go." 

"Who  will  make  me?" 

"I'm  here  for  that  purpose,  and  I  assure  you  that  I 
have  forces  behind  me " 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  199 

"I  asked  you  what  you  proposed  to  do  with  her." 

"Till  she  is  sixteen  she  must  live  with  Mrs.  Twistleton 
as  her  father  arranged.  I  can't  take  her  because  I  am 
not  married." 

"It  is  plain  that  you  are  not  married,"  said  Daphne. 

"Why  is  it  plain?" 

"Because  you  show  a  distressing  ignorance  of  chil- 
dren. Have  you  any  idea  of  the  state  Peggy  was  in 
when  Andrea  Sarzoni  brought  her  here?" 

"Who  is  Andrea  Sarzoni?"  said  Victor.  "I  know  that 
Peggy  was  enticed  from  home  by  an  odd-looking 
foreigner  who  would  have  been  arrested  in  London  if  I 
had  had  my  way  and  telegraphed  to  the  police  at  once. 
It  would  have  saved  us  all  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and 
anxiety  and  Mr.  What's-his-name  would  have  got  what 
he  richly  deserved."  Victor  felt  that  he  was  speaking 
over-roughly,  but  he  did  not  care.  His  temper,  which 
always  ignited  easily,  was  near  explosion. 

"Signor  Sarzoni  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  Daphne, 
and  by  the  quietness  of  her  manner  had  the  best  of  it. 
"He  knew  that  I  was  breaking  my  heart  for  Peggy,  so 
he  went  to  England  and  fetched  her.  It  was  a  wonder- 
ful thing  to  do.  I  don't  know  how  I  can  ever  repay 
him." 

"It  was  rather  a  useless  thing  to  do,"  said  Victor.  "A 
country  like  England  does  not  allow  its  laws  to  be  evaded 
quite  so  easily." 

"Do  you  know  much  of  Mrs.  Twistleton?"  asked 
Daphne. 

"I  know  her." 

"Do  you  know  that  she  has  ill-treated  Peggy?  Do 
you  know  that  the  child  has  been  beaten  and  half- 
starved,  neglected  when  she  was  ill,  treated  with  per- 
sistent unkindness  and  dislike?  Have  you  never  noticed 
the  scared  look  in  her  eyes — what  you  might  expect 
to  see  in  the  eyes  of  a  slum  child  reared  in  a  garret 


200  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

with  drunkards  who  ill-use  it?  She  has  been  ill-used  for 
years.  She  was  nothing  but  skin  and  bone  when  she 
came  to  me.  Her  poor  little  face  was  old  and  wizened : 
and  she  is  my  child." 

"She  was  Mr.  Twistleton's  child  too,"  said  Victor. 
"He  had  a  father's  rights  and  made  provisions  for  her 
that  must  be  carried  out.  Even  if  I  agreed  with  you 
I  have  no  power  to  alter  them." 

"You  are  Peggy's  guardian,  she  tells  me.  You  have 
rights  over  her  that  I,  her  mother,  have  not." 

"I  am  co-guardian  with  Mrs.  Twistleton." 

"Have  you  no  power  to  take  her  away  from  Mrs. 
Twistleton  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Victor  unwillingly;  "but  I  am  not 
going  to  do  it  unless  I  see  real  need." 

Daphne  looked  at  him  in  horror  and  amazement.  She 
got  up  suddenly  from  her  chair  and  went  towards  the 
window  that  gave  on  the  little  garden.  By  the  light  of 
the  stars  and  of  the  rising  moon  she  could  see  the  cherry- 
tree  into  which  Peggy  had  climbed  that  day  and  the 
tiled  terrace  on  which  they  had  sat  together  a  few  hours 
ago.  She  did  not  know  what  to  say  next.  This  man 
her  husband  had  set  over  his  child  seemed  to  her  as 
hard  as  steel  and  as  inflexible.  He  had  been  kind  to 
Peggy,  but  she  saw  no  kindness  in  him  now.  She  thought 
she  saw  dislike.  He  was  probably  biased  against  her, 
and  when  she  had  spoken  with  heat  of  Peggy's  abomi- 
nable treatment  his  face  had  hardened  as  men's  faces  do 
harden  when  women  they  distrust  clamor  and  exaggerate. 
Probably  he  believed  in  Mrs.  Twistleton.  Possibly  he 
was  her  admirer.  He  looked  younger  than  Rhoda,  who 
must  be  nearly  forty  by  now:  but  she  had  probably 
kept  her  youth.  Those  snake  women  did. 

"You  really  mean  that  I  have  no  rights  over  Peggy 
although  she  is  my  child?"  she  said,  turning  to  Victor 
again,  who  by  this  time  had  risen  too. 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  201 

"Surely  you  have  known  that  for  the  last  six  years," 
said  he. 

"I  knew  it  while  her  father  was  alive  .  .  .  but  he  is 
dead.  .  .  .  Now  there  is  no  one  but  me  ...  no  one 
at  all.  I  tell  you  she  shall  not  go  back  to  that 
woman." 

"I  tell  you  she  shall." 

Daphne's  hands  were  clenched  now  as  she  faced 
Victor,  with  little  hope  of  moving  him,  but  in  such  stress 
of  mind  that  she  fought  on  as  a  man  trapped  behind 
a  door  he  cannot  open  shakes  it  though  he  knows  it  is 
in  vain. 

"She  will  die  if  she  does,"  she  said. 

"She  will  not  die.  Peggy  was  ill  in  the  autumn  and 
was  thoroughly  well  looked  after.  I'm  going  to  keep  an 
eye  on  her  now,  and  if  I'm  not  satisfied  I  shall  send  her 
to  a  good  school." 

Daphne  laughed. 

"I  amuse  you !"  observed  Victor. 

"What  is  Peggy  to  you,  or  you  to  Peggy?  How  old 
are  you?  About  thirty-three  or  four,  I  suppose.  What 
do  you  understand  about  the  hourly  care  a  child  as 
delicate  as  Peggy  requires?  Can  you  watch  when  she 
is  tired  and  see  that  she  rests?  Can  you  see  that  she  is 
dressed  as  the  weather  changes  .  .  .  that  she  never  gets 
over-heated  or  chilled?  Can  you  give  her  the  tender- 
ness she  has  missed  all  these  years?  Do  you  think  her 
step-mother  will  do  it?  That  most  evil  woman." 

'Tm  not  sure  that  I  believe  much  in  people  being 
evil,"  said  Victor,  speaking  easily  because  Daphne  made 
him  feel  rather  wretched  and  he  wanted  to  end  the  in- 
terview on  a  less  agitated  plane.  He  liked  the  way  she 
stood  up  to  him  and  he  liked  her,  but  he  had  his  duty 
to  do.  It  was  an  unpleasant  one,  but  that  could  not  be 
helped. 

"People  are  often  stupid,"  he  conceded,  and  saw  that 


202  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

her  beautiful  eyes  could  have  an  ironical  gleam  in  them 
that  gave  them  savor. 

"But  you  must  have  learned  a  little  history  at  school," 
she  murmured,  "and  you  must  sometimes  see  the  papers. 
Every  day,  every  hour,  evil  things  are  done  and  come 
to  light.  More  is  done  that  never  comes  to  light  at  all. 
I  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Twistleton  is  evil.  She  turned  my 
husband  against  me.  .  .  ." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  know  her.    But  never  mind  about  that.    Peggy " 

"I  will  leave  Peggy  here  to-night  if  you  will  give  me 
your  word  of  honor  that  I  shall  find  her  here  to-morrow," 
said  Victor.  "To-morrow  I'm  afraid  I  must  take  her 
away." 

"To-night !  To-morrow !"  Victor  thought  the  woman 
was  going  to  fall  in  a  heap  at  his  feet,  but  she  steadied 
herself  by  an  effort.  What  it  cost  he  could  see  by  the 
change  in  her  face.  He  felt  like  an  executioner,  and 
wished  more  than  ever  that  he  had  never  come. 

"She  is  not  fit  to  travel,"  said  Daphne,  when  she  could 
speak. 

"She  is  not  going  to  travel  ...  at  any  rate,  not  yet." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Mrs.  Twistleton  is  in  Siena  ...  at  the  Royal." 

It  was  like  seeing  dead  gray  ashes  where  a  moment  ago 
you  saw  a  glowing  fire :  and  that  scared  look  in  her  eye ! 
Why  was  it  in  her  eyes  as  it  had  been  in  Peggy's?  She 
was  not  a  child  who  had  been  beaten  and  generally 
ill-treated  ...  if  those  stories  were  all  true.  He  must 
keep  a  better  watch  on  the  child  if  he  could,  and  it  was 
not  going  to  be  easy. 

"After  all,"  he  argued  aloud,  "Mr.  Twistleton  must 
have  known  what  he  was  about  and  he  left  Peggy  in  her 
step-mother's  care." 

"Why  has  Mrs.  Twistleton  come  to  Siena?"  said 
Daphne. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  203 

"She  was  coming  to  Italy  in  any  case  .  .  .  coming 
with  both  children  and  Miss  Busby,  their  governess,  for 
some  time.  When  we  found  that  Peggy  had  been  kid- 
napped and  brought  here  we  decided  to  come  after  her. 
You  know,  it  wasn't  playing  the  game,  Mrs.  Coverdale, 
to  carry  off  the  child  like  that  and  leave  no  word.  How 
were  we  to  know  she  was  not  drowned  or  lost  on  the 
fells?  We  spent  the  night  searching  for  her." 

"You  mean  that  you  feared  she  might  have  drowned 
herself  after  Mrs.  Twistleton  shot  her  dog?  I  don't 
think  English  children  commit  suicide  even  when  they 
are  hard  pressed.  I  can't  remember  a  case  of  it." 

Daphne  spoke  with  self-possession  and  her  manner 
told  Victor  many  things  that  her  lips  left  unsaid  at 
the  moment.  No  doubt  she  had  Peggy's  complete  con- 
fidence and  knew  a  great  deal  about  the  child's  life  that 
he  did  not.  Possibly  she  was  right  in  her  judgment  of 
Mrs.  Twistleton,  but  he  could  not  act  on  it  without 
further  evidence.  At  present  he  had  not  much  to  go  on 
except  Peggy's  chance  remarks  about  her  step-mother, 
and  Peggy  was  a  fanciful,  difficult  child.  The  killing 
of  Dingo  had  been  an  act  of  brutality,  but  he  knew  men 
who  could  have  done  it  in  a  fit  of  temper,  given  similar 
provocation.  There  were  probably  faults  on  both  sides. 

"You  give  me  your  promise,  Mrs.  Coverdale?"  he  said. 
"Peggy  will  be  here  in  the  morning?" 

"She  should  not  be  if  I  could  help  it,"  said  Daphne. 
"But  what  can  I  do?" 

Victor  held  out  his  hand,  but  Daphne  shrank  from  him 
and  refused  to  take  it. 

"You  won't  shake  hands?" 

"I  can't." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said,  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

She  did  not  recall  him,  but  stood  as  he  had  left  her 
till  he  closed  the  door.  Then  she  broke  down. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

"TTTHEN  is  my  dear  Mr.   Gerard  coming  again?" 

\\    said  Peggy  at  breakfast  next  day. 

"He  will  probably  come  this  morning,"  said 
Daphne.  She  had  not  slept  all  night,  and  though  her 
bath  had  refreshed  her,  she  looked  worn  with  her  vigil. 
Even  Peggy  noticed  that  something  was  wrong. 

"Have  you  been  crying,  Mummy?"  she  said.  "Your 
eyes  look  as  if  you  had  been  crying.  They've  gone  back 
in  your  head  and  the  lids  are  red.  Uncle  Andrea  said 
that  when  I  came  you  would  never  cry." 

"We  had  an  appointment  with  the  dressmaker  this 
morning,"  said  Daphne,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath. 
"I  must  send  her  word  that  we  cannot  come." 

It  was  like  some  brutal  disaster  in  their  lives,  rending 
them  asunder  and  upsetting  all  their  plans.  The  engage- 
ments they  had  made  could  not  be  carried  out,  even  the 
clothes  Daphne  had  ordered  for  the  child  might  never 
be  finished.  Probably  they  would  not  be  accepted  by 
her  legal  guardians. 

"Why  can't  we  go  to  the  dressmaker?"  asked  Peggy. 

"Because  Mr.  Gerard  is  coming  here." 

Peggy,  who  had  finished  her  breakfast,  executed  a  hop, 
skip  and  a  dance  expressive  of  unusual  joy  and  went 
to  look  at  her  love-birds  who  were  making  love  to  each 
other  in  the  window. 

"They  are  very  pretty,"  she  said,  "but  they  are  rather 
dull.  They  would  be  more  amusing  if  they  sometimes 
had  a  quarrel.  Can  I  go  and  gather  some  cherries  for 
Mr.  Gerard,  Mummy?  I  told  him  I  would." 

204 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  205 

"Don't  tumble  out  of  the  tree,  then,"  said  Daphne, 
and  wondered  what  would  happen  if  Peggy  did  tumble 
and  hurt  herself  seriously  and  was  kept  here  for  weeks 
or  months.  She  supposed  it  would  be  a  reprieve. 

"Have  you  told  her?"  said  Victor  directly  he  arrived. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Daphne.  "I  will  leave  that  to 
you." 

She  spoke  with  spirit,  but  he  could  see  that  she  had 
been  crying  her  eyes  out  and  had  probably  not  slept. 
She  was  dressed  with  freshness  and  precision,  and  he 
liked  that  in  her.  By  the  morning  light  she  was  a  lovely 
woman  and  if  the  face  is  an  index  to  the  mind  she  was 
a  good  one.  He  wished  he  had  come  over  her  threshold 
as  a  friend  and  not  as  a  foe.  Here  came  Peggy  helter- 
skelter,  bringing  him  cherries  and  kisses  and  a  welcome. 
He  supposed  she  would  set  up  a  howl  when  he  told  her 
why  he  had  come :  and  hate  him.  Better  get  it  over 
quickly. 

"Are  you  ready,  Peggy?"  he  said,  when  the  first  rap- 
tures had  subsided. 

"What  for  ?"  asked  Peggy,  her  hand  stroking  his  tweed 
sleeve  affectionately. 

"To  come  with  me." 

"Where  to?" 

"To  the  Hotel  Royal." 

"Are  you  staying  there  ?" 

"Yes." 

"I'll  come  if  Mummy  does,"  said  Peggy. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  and  then  Victor  spoke 
with  more  authority. 

"Go  and  put  your  hat  on,"  he  said:  and  Peggy  went, 
after  glancing  at  her  mother,  who  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  her  without  telling  her  .  .  . 
into  a  trap?"  said  Daphne  bitterly. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  said  Victor  with  decision.  "If  there  is 
to  be  a  fuss  I'll  have  it  there  and  not  here." 


206  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  bid  her  good-by  as  if  I  was 
letting  her  go  for  half  an  hour?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

Daphne  went  out  of  the  room  before  he  could  attempt 
to  stop  her,  and  when  the  door  opened  again  Peggy 
came  in  by  herself. 

"I'm  ready,"  she  announced. 

"Have  you  said  good-by  to  your  mother?"  he  asked, 
wondering  what  had  happened. 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy  cheerfully.  "She  came  in  and  said 
good-by  to  me.  I'm  afraid  she  has  crumpled  my  frock 
rather,  because  she  squeezed  me  so  hard.  We  said 
good-by  for  ever  so  long.  Did  you  think  I  took  all  that 
time  to  put  on  a  hat?  Mummy  isn't  coming  to  say 
good-by  to  you  and  she  won't  come  with  us.  It  would 
be  a  pity  if  she  didn't  like  you,  wouldn't  it,  as  I  like 
you  so  much.  I  wonder  why  she  was  crying  when  she 
bid  me  good-by." 

"Come  along,"  said  Victor,  not  quite  sure  whether  he 
felt  most  like  Judas  Iscariot  or  one  of  the  ruffians  he 
had  seen  in  a  picture  yesterday  of  the  Slaughter  of  the 
Innocents.  But  he  could  not  carry  Peggy  howling 
through  the  streets  of  Siena,  and  presumably  she  would 
howl  when  she  was  confronted  with  her  step-mother 
again.  He  had  not  wanted  Mrs.  Twistleton  to  come,  but 
she  said  she  had  always  wished  to  see  the  city  and  did 
not  intend  to  avoid  it  because  Daphne  happened  to  live 
there.  They  need  not  meet.  Also,  she  pointed  out  that 
it  would  save  Victor  inconvenience.  If  she  was  not 
there  to  receive  Peggy  he  would  have  to  travel  with  the 
child :  and  children  were  troublesome  traveling  com- 
panions. Victor  did  not  doubt  that.  They  were  trouble- 
some creatures  at  all  times.  Here  was  this  one  at  his 
side  ...  no  end  to  the  trouble  she  caused  .  .  .  and  the 
heartbreak.  He  would  like  to  see  Daphne  again,  if  only 
to  assure  her  that  Peggy  was  well  and  happy:  but 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  207 

would  he  be  received,  and  would  Peggy  be  well  and 
happy  ? 

Victor  had  kept  hold  of  the  child's  hand  because  now 
that  he  had  got  her  he  did  not  intend  to  let  her  go,  but 
they  were  not  on  the  way  to  the  Royal.  He  had  a  good 
hour  to  spare  before  lunch-time,  and  he  had  not  seen 
the  Duomo  yet:  so  he  had  proposed  to  Peggy  that  they 
should  go  there  together. 

"I  should  like  that,"  said  Peggy,  "and  if  you  like  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it.  But  perhaps  you  know  more 
than  I  do,"  she  added,  remembering  her  manners.  How- 
ever, Victor  assured  her  that  he  knew  nothing  at  all 
about  the  Duomo  and  that  he  had  not  brought  his  guide- 
book with  him,  and  that  he  was  ready  to  be  instructed 
by  Peggy  to  the  limit  of  her  capacity. 

"You  do  use  long  words,"  said  Peggy,  looking  up  at 
his  profile  and  giving  his  hand  a  little  squeeze  that  still 
further  depressed  his  spirits.  "You  see  this  great  arch 
that  we  are  under  now?  They  began  that  in  1339  be- 
cause they  wanted  their  cathedral  to  be  bigger  than  any- 
one else's,  because  they  are  a  very  vain  people.  Dante 
says  so.  But  the  plague  came  and  killed  most  of  them 
and  they  never  had  money  enough  afterwards.  Would 
you  like  to  go  in  at  the  side?  No,  we  must  look  at 
the  fagade  first  and  I  will  tell  you  about  that  and  about 
the  Campanile.  I've  seen  the  Leaning  Tower  at  Pisa 
and  been  up  to  the  top  of  it.  Did  you  ever  do  that?" 

"We  came  by  Pisa,"  said  Victor  heedlessly.  "I  didn't 
go  to  the  top  of  the  tower.  The  heat  was  terrific." 

"Why  do  you  say  'we'?"  inquired  Peggy.  "Who  was 
with  you?" 

They  were  sitting  now  on  the  long  stone  seat  beneath 
the  hospital  facing  the  fac.ade  of  the  Duomo.  They  were 
in  shade,  but  the  sun  beat  upon  the  glistening  front  of 
the  cathedral  so  that  it  looked  as  white  and  shining  as 
a  giant  wedding-cake  and  as  new,  The  broad  space 


208  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

between  the  hospital  and  the  bottom  of  the  cathedral 
steps  was  nearly  empty  at  this  hour.  One  or  two  beggars 
loitered  in  shady  spots  on  the  look-out  for  likely  victims, 
at  intervals  a  motor-lorry  thundered  past,  and  on  the 
stone  seat  itself  two  seedy-looking  men  were  enjoying  a 
morning  nap.  There  were  so  few  people  about  that 
each  one  became  noticeable,  and  as  Victor  got  up  to  go 
into  the  cathedral  he  saw  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  coming 
with  a  dragging  step  their  way.  He  had  made  his  move 
because  he  did  not  mean  to  answer  Peggy's  question 
yet,  but  the  inopportune  appearance  of  the  governess 
and  the  elder  girl  answered  it  for  him.  At  the  moment 
he  had  let  Peggy's  hand  go,  but  he  saw  her  stop  stock 
still  and  turn  first  red  with  surprise  and  then  pale  with 
fright.  She  looked  at  him. 

"Did  you  know  they  were  here?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  knew,"  said  he.  "Come  along,  Peggy.  We 
won't  wait  for  them.  We'll  go  in  by  ourselves." 

"Is  she  here?" 

"Speak  properly,"  he  ordered  rather  roughly,  for  like 
other  men  he  was  apt  to  use  the  rough  edge  to  his  tongue 
when  the  situation  confounded  and  annoyed  him.  "Yes, 
Mrs.  Twistleton  is  here." 

"At  the  Royal?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  won't  go  there.  Thank  you  very  much  for 
asking  me,  Mr.  Gerard,  but  I  must  go  back  to  Mummy 
now.  I  know  the  way." 

She  took  a  step  in  the  right  direction,  but  of  course 
Victor  had  her  by  the  wrist  in  a  moment,  and  though  she 
tried  to  get  away  it  did  not  take  her  long  to  realize  that 
his  hand  was  like  a  ring  of  iron  against  her  puny  efforts. 
So  she  burst  into  tears. 

"Come  into  the  cathedral  before  they  get  up  to  us," 
said  Victor,  for  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  were  still  crawling 
slowly  across  another  part  of  the  sun-baked  piazza  and 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  209 

had  not  noticed  them  yet.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you:  but 
you  must  leave  off  crying." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  into  the  Duomo.  I  want  to  go 
home,"  wailed  Peggy. 

"You  must  do  as  you  are  told,"  said  Victor,  and 
thanked  his  stars  that  the  scene  was  empty:  because 
Peggy's  sobs  were  getting  louder  as  he  made  her  walk 
with  him  to  the  cathedral  steps. 

"I  want  to  go  home.  Let  me  go  home,"  she  said  again 
and  again,  until  he  lost  his  patience. 

"You  are  not  going  home,"  he  said,  "and  if  you  howl 
like  that  I  won't  take  you  into  the  cathedral.  Are  you 
going  to  behave  yourself?" 

"No,"  said  Peggy:  and  kicked  him.  They  were  on 
the  top  of  the  steps  by  that  time,  close  to  the  doors,  and 
he  saw  that  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  were  making  for  the 
stone  seat  and  would  soon  turn  round  and  see  them.  So 
he  pushed  the  child  through  the  door  and  spoke  to  her 
severely. 

"Be  quiet!"  he  said.  "I'm  very  angry  with  you,"  and 
his  voice  carried  conviction.  He  had  never  spoken  to 
her  like  that  before,  and  when  he  did  all  the  tumult 
within  her  seemed  to  die  away  beneath  the  weight  of 
his  displeasure.  Besides,  the  sudden  change  from  the 
garish  sun  outside  into  the  cold,  quiet  darkness  of  the 
cathedral  had  its  effect.  The  great  striped  columns  im- 
posed themselves:  the  hush  of  the  place  made  any  per- 
sonal noise  unseemly.  At  the  far  end  of  the  immense 
nave  she  could  see  the  bronze  tabernacle  and  the  angels 
of  bronze  guarding  it.  Just  beyond  where  they  stood, 
through  brimming  eyes,  she  saw  one  of  the  fonts  she  had 
meant  to  tell  him  about.  Though  she  was  crying  she 
could  see  the  marble  tortoise  that  had  made  her  wish  for 
a  live  tortoise  of  her  own :  but  Victor  did  not  stay  near 
them.  He  led  her  to  a  marble  seat  near  the  Cappella 
del  Voto  and  they  sat  down  there  together,  he  still  hold- 


210  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

ing  her  hand.  They  had  the  huge  place  almost  to  them- 
selves for  the  time.  One  old  woman  was  praying  near 
the  pulpit  and  another  in  front  of  the  Cappella  del  Voto, 
but  otherwise  there  was  not  one  to  be  seen. 

"You  must  try  to  be  sensible  and  understand  what  I 
say  to  you,"  began  Victor,  speaking  in  a  low  voice.  "Your 
father  left  you  in  my  care  and  in  Mrs.  Twistleton's." 

A  violent  shudder  convulsed  Peggy's  frame  when  her 
step-mother  was  mentioned,  and  Victor  went  on  speaking 
rather  hurriedly  and  in  a  harder  tone  than  he  would 
have  used  if  he  had  not  thought  hardness  the  best  tonic 
for  her  unloosed  emotions. 

"You  know,  don't  you,  that  you  cannot  live  with  your 
mother  till  you  are  sixteen?" 

"But  I  did  live  with  her,"  said  Peggy. 

Victor  lost  his  patience  again,  which  was  wrong  of 
him:  but  he  was  not  used  to  children. 

"You're  not  going  to  live  with  her  a  day  longer,"  he 
said.  "It  was  very  naughty  of  you  to  run  away  as 
you  did." 

"I'd  run  away  again  if  I  could,"  sobbed  Peggy. 

"I've  no  doubt  you  would :  but  I'll  take  care  you  don't. 
You're  coming  with  me  now,  and  you'd  better  behave 
yourself.  You  may  not  think  it,  but  I  can  be  extra- 
ordinarily disagreeable  when  people  annoy  me." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  I  mustn't  kick  you  again,"  said 
Peggy.  "I  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  I'd  had  time  to  think : 
but  I  wanted  with  all  my  might  and  main  to  get  away." 

"Yes,  I  know  there  are  extenuating  circumstances," 
said  Victor.  "Otherwise.  .  .  ." 

His  voice  was  kind  again  and  his  eyes  had  the  twinkle 
in  them  that  made  Peggy  watch  them  and  like  them. 
His  hand  closed  on  hers  strongly  and  with  promise:  as 
much  as  to  say  that  he  had  come  back  now  and  would 
take  care  of  her. 

"But  Mummy  will  cry  if  I  don't  go  back,"  she  said. 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  211 

"She  will  cry  dreadfully.  It  is  so  unkind  of  me  to  stay 
away  when  she  wants  me." 

"She  has  done  without  you  for  a  long  while,"  sug- 
gested Victor. 

"But  she  cried  all  the  time  and  was  never  happy. 
Uncle  Andrea  said  so.  That  was  why  he  fetched  me." 

As  she  spoke  she  saw  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  advanc- 
ing towards  them,  apparently  more  interested  in  this  en- 
counter than  in  anything  else  around  them. 

"Well,  Peggy!"  said  Mabel.  "Crying  as  usual.  But 
how  smart  you  look,  doesn't  she,  Miss  Busby?  Smart 
and  tidy.  I  see  you're  wearing  white  shoes  and  stock- 
ings " 

"Hush!"  said  Miss  Busby.  "We  should  always  re- 
member, my  dear,  that  though  this  is  not  a  church  for 
us  it  is  a  church  for  the  poor  Italians.  What  peculiar 
taste  they  havel  I'm  not  sure  that  I  like  these  black 
and  white  stripes,  though  they  might  look  well  on  a 
jumper.  Can  you  tell  us  what  we  ought  to  admire,  Mr. 
Gerard,  or  shall  we  need  a  guide?  Not  now,  of  course. 
It  is  nearly  lunch-time  and  we  shall  have  to  cross  the 
square  in  that  blinding  heat  again.  I  knew  it  wasn't 
worth  while  coming  this  morning,  but  Mabel  was  in  a 
fidget  to  see  some  of  the  sights.  I  suppose  you've  seen 
them  all,  Peggy,  as  you've  been  here  a  month  or  more?" 

When  Miss  Busby  was  in  a  conversational  vein  she 
rarely  expected  an  answer  to  a  question,  and  she  now 
turned  to  Victor  again  and  continued : 

"You  would  hardly  think  that  the  children  were  step- 
sisters and  had  not  seen  each  other  for  weeks,  would 
you?  But  Peggy  is  certainly  peculiar  in  some  ways. 
They  are  staring  at  each  other  just  as  dogs  do  before 
they  start  a  fight.  But  they  can't  fight  in  a  church, 
luckily.  I  thought  Mabel  would  be  so  glad  to  have  Peggy 
back.  She  is  always  complaining  that  she  feels  so  dull 
and  has  nothing  to  do.  I  must  say  that  in  my  humble 


212  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

opinion  hotel  life  is  not  the  thing  for  girls  of  their  age. 
It  is  unsettling.  Well,  Mabel  dear,  don't  you  wish  to 
give  Peggy  a  kiss  and  welcome  her'  back  ?  Not  in  the 
church,  of  course,  but  directly  we  get  outside  .  .  .  only 
you  must  be  careful  not  to  get  sunstroke." 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Mabel  primly ;  "but  if  I  do  she'll 
probably  wipe  it  off  with  her  handkerchief." 

"I  should,"  said  Peggy.  "I  don't  want  you  to  kiss 
me.  I  don't  want  to  come.  Why  couldn't  you  all  leave 
me  alone?" 

"Peggy!"  said  Victor  warningly,  and  signed  to  the 
children  to  precede  them  out  of  the  church. 

"Isn't  the  glare  terrible!"  bleated  Miss  Busby,  when 
they  emerged  into  it.  "It  makes  me  feel  quite  dizzy. 
Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Gerard!  I  shall  be  glad  of  your 
arm  down  the  steps.  What  do  you  say  that  unfinished 
building  we  came  through  is?  A  cathedral  that  was  to 
be  bigger  than  this  one?  But  this  one  is  much  bigger 
than  such  a  small  city  can  need.  It  would  do  for  Man- 
chester: but  I  suppose  the  front  would  not  look  as  clean 
as  it  does  here.  I  wonder  where  Peggy  is  off  to?  Look 
at  her." 

Victor  looked,  ran,  and  caught  Peggy  again. 

"It's  no  use,"  he  said.  "If  you  reached  your  mother 
I  should  reach  you  half  an  hour  later.  If  she  took  you 
out  of  Siena  I  should  find  out  where  you  had  gone  and 
follow  you.  You  are  only  making  trouble  for  yourself." 

"But  I  want  her,"  said  Peggy.  "You  don't  know  how 
badly  I  want  her." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

PEGGY  had  been  gone  more  than  a  week  and  Andrea 
Sarzoni  had  fallen  into  his  old  ways.  Every  even- 
ing he  played  with  Daphne:  or  if  she  was  too 
tired  for  duets  he  played  to  her.  But  he  could  not  help 
her,  and  he  knew  it.  When  they  were  not  at  their  music 
they  would  sit  on  the  little  tiled  terrace  together  near 
the  cherry-tree  in  which  Peggy  had  clambered  when  she 
wanted  the  fruit.  The  noises  of  the  city  hardly  reached 
them,  but  every  night  after  the  breathless  heat  of  the 
day  the  breeze  came  from  the  mountains  and  just  stirred 
the  tendrils  of  Daphne's  hair  as  she  sat,  sad  and  silent, 
in  her  chair.  Andrea  knew  that  she  was  fretting  her 
heart  out,  but  she  did  not  say  much:  and  he  fretted 
because  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  for  her  now.  He 
had  proposed  that  they  shoult  entice  Peggy  to  them  again 
and  take  her  to  the  mountains:  not  those  they  saw  as 
they  sat  there,  but  others  beyond  Florence  and  more 
difficult  to  reach.  But  Daphne  said  they  were  sure  to 
be  followed.  The  Englishman  did  not  mean  to  let 

Peggy  g°- 

"I  can  believe  it,"  said  Andrea  gloomily.  "I  have  seen 
him  coming  out  of  the  hotel.  He  walks  like  one  who 
would  go  through  what  stands  in  his  way  rather  than 
around  it:  and  his  eyes  are  like  steel.  If  he  was  with 
us  instead  of  against  us  we  should  know  what  to  do." 

"We  can  do  nothing,"  said  Daphne  hopelessly.  "Soon 
they  will  leave  Siena  and  take  my  bambina  with  them 
and  I  shall  never  see  her  again  because  she  will  die. 
Three  times  I  have  seen  her  since  that  man  took  her 
away  and  each  time  I  was  angry  because  I  could  not 

213 


214  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

interfere.  The  first  time  was  at  night.  The  whole  party 
sat  at  the  restaurant  in  the  Lizza  and  the  two  children 
were  eating  ices.  Peggy  had  on  one  of  those  thin  white 
frocks  I  got  her.  .  .  ." 

"You  sent  her  her  clothes?"  interrupted  Andrea. 

"Yes.  I  sent  them  without  a  word  and  they  were 
accepted  without  a  word.  But  I  was  telling  you  about 
Peggy.  The  night  was  cool  and  she  should  have  worn  a 
little  woolen  coat  over  her  frock.  I  saw  her  shiver  and 
I  heard  her  begin  to  cough.  Then  I  went  away  because 
I  could  not  bear  it.  I  have  asked  Professor  Bianchi  if 
he  has  been  called  in,  but  he  has  not  seen  the  child  since 
she  left  me.  The  next  time  she  was  in  a  carriage,  and 
the  carriage  had  no  baldachino.  She  sat  with  her  back 
to  the  horse  in  the  scorching  sun  while  the  other  child 
sat  in  the  shade  of  her  mother's  umbrella.  She  looked 
white  and  ill.  Then  yesterday  I  was  driving  and  passed 
them  in  the  Via  Ricasoli,  and  I  saw  that  Peggy  looked 
tired  again  and  as  white  as  a  sheet.  These  are  all  little 
things,  Andrea,  but  I  feel  sure  that  it  is  not  well  with 
the  child.  We  know  that  they  are  not  kind  to  her." 

"Did  you  reason  with  the  Englishman  ?"  asked  Andrea. 

"An  Englishman  doesn't  listen  to  reason  when  he  has 
the  law  on  his  side.  He  says  so-and-so  is  the  law:  and 
the  law  must  be  obeyed.  Even  when  it  is  stupid  and 
cruel  it  must  be  obeyed." 

Andrea  sighed  and  took  up  his  violin.  It  was  about 
time  for  him  to  go:  but  he  it  put  down  again  for  a 
moment  because  the  bell  rang,  and  there  was  the  sound 
outside  of  an  arrival  and  of  a  quick  firm  step  across  the 
marble  floor  of  the  hall. 

"Ecco!"  said  Andrea.  "The  Englishman!  I  hear  his 
walk." 

"Why  does  he  come?"  said  Daphne  under  her  breath, 
and  then  had  to  receive  Victor  because  Giuditta  brought 
him  out  there. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  215 

Andrea's  melancholy  eyes  watched  him  as  he  made 
his  entry  and  sat  down  near  Daphne,  but  did  not  offer 
her  his  hand.  He  himself,  on  being  presented,  made  a 
low  bow  and  received  a  sufficiently  polite  one  in  return. 
The  man  had  an  agreeable  exterior.  You  could  see  by 
the  set  of  his  shoulders  that  he  had  been  drilled,  and  he 
was  dressed  with  that  mysterious  combination  of  ease 
and  precision  peculiar  to  Englishmen.  Andrea  had  a 
new  linen  suit  on  and  a  straw  hat :  and  he  did  not  look 
or  feel  so  much  like  a  queer  foreign  mountebank  here  in 
Siena  as  he  had  done  in  an  English  railway  carriage.  He 
was  at  home  and  the  Englishman  was  not.  At  least,  it 
should  have  been  so.  But  Daphne  and  Victor  were  both 
English  and  seemed  to  make  their  own  atmosphere. 
Probably  they  wished  to  talk  to  each  other  in  their  own 
tongue.  Victor  had  just  said  that  he  neither  spoke  nor 
understood  Italian.  So  Andrea  again  got  up  to  go,  and 
this  time  accomplished  his  exit  quickly :  but  Daphne  kept 
his  hand  in  hers  a  moment  longer  than  usual  as  they 
bid  good-by,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  say  to  him,  "It  is 
you  who  are  my  friend."  When  she  sat  down  in  her 
chair  again  she  waited  for  Victor  to  speak,  and  he  waited 
till  the  street  door  had  closed  behind  Andrea. 

"Do  you  mind  my  coming  to  see  you?"  he  said  then. 

"Why  have  you  come?"  said  she. 

"I  thought  you'd  like  to  hear  about  Peggy." 

"I  have  seen  Peggy  three  times.     She  is  ill  again." 

"Well  .  .  .  she  got  a  bit  of  a  chill  one  night  in  the 
Lizza:  but  she's  nearly  all  right  again.  Shall  I  bring 
her  to  see  you  some  day?" 

"Yes,"  said  Daphne,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

Victor  saw  that  his  proposal  took  her  by  surprise  and 
moved  her  deeply.  He  saw  her  clasped  hands  clasp 
themselves  more  tightly  and  her  eyes  looked  as  if  heaven 
had  opened  for  a  moment:  the  heaven  she  desired  and 
that  he  was  obliged  to  deny  her. 


216  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"When  shall  we  come  ?"  he  asked,  fascinated :  and  he 
did  not  know  himself  that  his  voice  had  tones  in  it  few 
people  ever  heard. 

"Soon  .  .  .  soon,"  said  Daphne.  "To-morrow,  at 
teatime,"  and  when  he  went  she  offered  him  her 
hand. 

Victor  had  gone  to  see  Daphne  without  any  fixed  pur- 
pose, and  the  proposal  to  take  Peggy  there  had  been 
made  on  impulse  when  he  saw  how  unhappy  she  looked. 
He  was  staying  on  in  Siena — he  hardly  knew  why:  to 
see  the  Palio:  to  make  sure  that  Peggy  was  getting  on 
well :  because  he  had  nothing  else  to  do  and  it  was  too 
hot  for  railway  journeys.  As  he  was  here  he  could 
make  things  a  little  pleasanter  for  Daphne  by  taking  her 
child  to  see  her  occasionally:  if  she  would  let  him.  It 
might  be  incorrect  legally :  but  he  was  not  going  to  trouble 
about  that.  He  had  obeyed  the  law  when  he  took  Peggy 
from  her  and  the  stony  misery  in  her  face  had  haunted 
him  ever  since.  Now  that  he  knew  her  it  did  seem  a 
pity  that  the  child  could  not  be  left  with  her  since  she 
made  Peggy  happy  and  wanted  her  so  much.  The  family 
party  at  the  hotel  was  not  harmonious  and  Victor  escaped 
from  it  when  he  could.  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  bored  by 
Siena  and  showed  it,  but,  for  reasons  she  did  not  explain, 
refused  to  leave.  Miss  Busby  felt  the  heat  as  an  affliction 
and  did  not  like  the  cooking.  She  complained  to  Victor 
that  she  had  to  spend  the  whole  day  indoors  because 
the  children  did  lessons  in  the  morning  and  in  the  after- 
noon it  was  too  hot  to  go  out. 

"I've  been  used  all  my  life  to  regular  exercise  from 
two  till  four,  but  here  it  is  impossible,"  she  said.  "Be- 
sides, Peggy  is  a  greater  strain  than  ever  now  that  I  am 
responsible  for  her  not  running  away.  I  wish  dear  Mrs. 
Twistleton  could  be  persuaded  to  go  where  it  is  cooler 
.  .  .  Switzerland,  for  instance,  or  the  Tyrol.  We  did 
all  the  sights  here  in  a  week,  and  I  can't  think  what  the 


LAW  AND   OUTLAW  217 

attraction  is  now.  I  don't  suppose  the  Palio  will  be  in  the 
least  like  Epsom  or  Ascot." 

"It  will  not.  You  may  make  up  your  mind  to  that," 
said  Victor. 

"And  as  for  taking  a  horse  inside  a  church  ...  I 
call  it  blasphemous.  .  .  .  Besides,  the  horse  won't  know 
where  it  is.  .  .  ." 

The  embarrassing  idea  that  checked  the  flow  of  Miss 
Busby's  lament  gave  Victor  a  chance  of  saying  that  he 
wanted  to  take  Peggy  out  for  the  afternoon  and  could  he 
get  hold  of  her  at  once,  please?  Miss  Busby,  who  was 
ready  at  all  times  to  fetch  and  carry  for  Mr.  Gerard,  said 
that  she  would  go  and  see,  but  that  it  might  take  a  few 
minutes  to  make  Peggy  presentable.  Not  that  it  would 
be  difficult  now  that  she  had  such  a  variety  of  clothes. 

"I  believe  that  I  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Coverdale  two 
days  ago,"  she  said.  "We  were  walking  and  she  was 
driving.  What  a  beautiful  woman  she  is,  and  so  young! 
How  sad  it  seems  that  she  should  have  gone  off  the  rails. 
Excuse  my  slang." 

Perhaps  Victor's  glance  at  his  watch  suggested  that 
he  was  in  a  hurry.  At  any  rate,  after  waiting  a  moment 
for  some  answer  to  her  remarks,  and  getting  none,  Miss 
Busby  departed.  In  about  ten  minutes  she  came  back 
with  Peggy  dressed  in  one  of  her  new  frocks  and  bub- 
bling with  pleasure  and  excitement. 

"Where  shall  I  say  you  have  gone?"  simpered  Miss 
Busby. 

"You  needn't  say  anything,"  said  Victor,  and  walked 
out  of  the  hotel  with  Peggy,  hand  in  hand. 

"He  has  a  rath  r  cavalier  manner  at  times,"  said  Miss 
Busby,  explaining  the  situation  to  Mrs.  Twistleton  a  little 
later.  "I  wonder  where  they  have  gone." 

Mrs.  Twistleton  wondered  too,  and  gave  a  guess  that 
disturbed  and  annoyed  her:  but  she  did  not  try  to  en- 
lighten Miss  Busby.  She  put  on  a  cool,  becoming  frock, 


218  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

and  drawing  her  bow  at  a  venture  went  for  a  little 
walk  and  found  Victor  sitting  in  front  of  the  Duomo 
looking  bored. 

"Where  is  Peggy?"  she  said,  sitting  down  beside  him. 

"I've  let  her  go  to  see  her  mother,"  said  he. 

"I  think  you  should  have  consulted  me  first,"  said 
Mrs.  Twistleton,  showing  her  annoyance. 

"I  expect  I  should,"  admitted  Victor. 

"I  should  have  been  against  it." 

"I  daresay  that's  why  I  didn't  ask  you." 

"It  isn't  fair  to  me.  How  am  I  to  control  the  child 
if  these  hostile  influences " 

"Why  don't  you  go  away  from  Siena  then?"  said 
Victor  bluntly.  "I  can't  think  what  keeps  you  here :  and 
it's  torture  for  Mrs.  Coverdale." 

"I  am  not  in  any  way  bound  to  consider  Mrs.  Cover- 
dale.  She  has  brought  such  troubles  as  she  has  on 
herself.  But  I  confess  that  I've  not  much  faith  in  a 
mother-love  that  first  deserts  a  child  and  then  lives  six 
or  seven  years  without  seeing  it." 

"How  could  she  see  it?    She  was  not  allowed  access." 

"No  one  could  have  prevented  her  staying  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, I  suppose.  These  sudden  caprices  do  not  im- 
press me.  There  is  probably  some  other  man  about  by 
this  time  who  is  moved  by  the  pathetic  stop.  What  sort 
of  creature  is  the  Italian  who  fetched  the  child?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Victor,  too  angry  to  say  that 
he  had  met  Sarzoni  or  to  describe  his  appearance.  At 
times  he  was  beginning  to  dislike  Rhoda  Twistleton  in- 
tensely. He  did  to-day,  when  even  under  her  veil  he 
could  see  her  make-up  and  the  wrink'es  at  the  corners 
of  her  heavy-lidded  eyes.  Why  had  she  sought  him  out 
here?  He  got  up  to  go. 

"I've  promised  to  fetch  Peggy,"  he  said,  lifted  his  hat, 
and  went. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  219 

Mrs.  Twistleton  sat  still  and  watched  him  helplessly. 
It  was  a  bitter  moment  for  her,  for  she  knew  that  he 
went  from  her  in  displeasure,  and  that  her  tactics  had 
been  clumsy.  She  had  seen  Daphne  on  both  occasions 
when  Daphne  had  seen  her,  and  had  been  gratified  by 
those  elements  in  the  situation  that  the  younger  woman 
had  found  painful:  but  she  had  not  been  gratified  by 
Daphne's  increased  beauty.  She  had  not  been  prepared 
for  it.  Her  ideas  went  back  eleven  years,  when  Mr. 
Twistleton  had  brought  a  girl  of  seventeen  to  Manchester 
and  asked  Rhoda  to  befriend  her.  There  had  never  been 
any  friendship  between  them,  and  Rhoda  still  thought 
of  her  predecessor  as  she  had  known  her  first:  a  shy, 
unhappy,  high-spirited  creature  being  gradually  broken 
by  life,  bewildered  and  lonely.  To-day  Daphne  looked 
as  if  life  had  molded  and  made  her,  sadly,  perhaps, 
but  exquisitely.  She  was  no  longer  penniless,  she  was 
no  longer  in  bondage :  but  she  had  lost  her  child.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  thought  of  the  clothes  that  had  been  sent  to 
Peggy  and  smiled.  They  meant  a  great  deal,  and  she 
knew  just  how  much.  They  represented  more  than  the 
money  they  had  cost :  far  more.  Mabel  was  never  dressed 
so  finely  and  carefully,  and  she  was  jealous  of  the  pretty 
things  Peggy  now  possessed.  The  children  bickered  more 
than  ever,  and  Miss  Busby  was  insufferable  with  her 
complaints  and  her  everlasting  neuralgia.  But  Mrs. 
Twistleton  did  not  mean  to  leave  Siena  just  yet.  The 
position  was  piquant,  though  it  was  not  developing  quite 
as  she  wished.  She  wanted  Victor  as  well  as  Peggy 
for  her  own.  She  wanted  him  rather  badly.  It  had  been 
mortifying  just  now  to  see  him  get  up  and  go. 

Meanwhile,  Victor  marched  across  the  piazza  and 
through  the  crowded  streets  in  an  angry  mood.  Legally 
he  was  allied  with  Mrs.  Twistleton  against  Daphne,  and 
he  was  beginning  to  find  the  position  unpleasant.  He 


220  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

could  not  get  out  of  it,  however,  unless  he  left  Siena,  and 
that  would  not  take  him  out  of  it  really.  So  he  might 
as  well  stay.  He  wished  he  had  never  taken  up  his 
quarters  in  the  same  hotel.  He  was  seeing  too  much  of 
Mrs.  Twistleton  and  that  fool  of  a  governess.  He  was 
wasting  his  time,  too.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  wasted 
so  much  time.  Peggy  should  come  home  at  once  and 
he  would  take  a  good  hard  walk  outside  the  house. 
What  he  wanted  was  exercise.  This  hanging  about  nar- 
row streets  and  churches  did  not  suit  him. 

"How  late  you  are!  We  thought  you  were  never 
coming,  and  we  want  our  tea  dreadfully,"  said  Peggy, 
directly  he  entered  the  room. 

"You  haven't  waited,  surely?"  said  Victor,  but  he  saw 
that  they  had,  and  that,  as  Peggy  pointed  out,  there 
were  lovely  things  for  tea:  first  little  rolls  and  butter, 
and  then  cakes,  and  then  wild  strawberries  with  a  little 
wine  and  sugar  and  then — oh  bliss  ! — ice  cream.  They 
had  it  on  the  terrace,  where  it  was  quiet  and  shady  and 
almost  cool.  Daphne  wore  white  to-day  and  looked  a 
little  worn  by  the  heat,  but  happy  because  Peggy  was 
with  her.  Giuditta  came  to  and  fro  waiting  on  them. 
The  love-birds  crooned  to  each  other  and  Peggy  chat- 
tered and  enjoyed  her  tea.  She  looked  a  different  child 
up  here  with  her  mother.  Little  as  Victor  knew  about 
children,  he  could  see  that. 

"I  wish  I  needn't  ever  go  back,"  she  began  when  tea 
was  over  and  she  had  eaten  more  ice-cream  than  Daphne 
wished  her  to.  Daphne  evidently  could  not  say  "No" 
to  her.  Victor  saw  that  too. 

"Can't  you  leave  me  here,  Mr.  Gerard  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't/'  said  Victor. 

"Why  not?" 

Victor  looked  at  Daphne  and  did  not  attempt  to  an- 
swer the  child. 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  221 

"You  mustn't  tease,  Peggy,"  said  Daphne.  "At  your 
age  you  can't  have  everything  explained  to  you." 

"You  just  do  as  you  are  told.  It's  quite  easy,"  said 
Victor.  "Go  and  put  on  your  hat  now,  Peggy.  I  promised 
Miss  Busby  to  return  you  safely  at  six,  and  it's  half-past 
six  now." 

"Then  you  can't  keep  your  promise  and  I  needn't  go 
yet,"  said  Peggy. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  Victor  in  his  lowest  and 
gentlest  voice :  the  one  that  meant  you  must  obey  whether 
you  wanted  to  or  not ;  but  the  odd  thing  about  it  was 
that  you  always  did  want  to  so  much  that  your  unwill- 
ingness melted  away.  For  instance,  to-day  you  did  not 
want  to  go,  but  you  knew  that  you  must,  and  you  did 
not  mind  because  it  was  Mr.  Gerard.  It  was  rather 
contradictory  and  difficult  to  understand.  However, 
Peggy,  pouting  a  little  but  obedient,  went  for  her  hat. 
Daphne,  rather  amused,  looked  on. 

"You  seem  able  to  manage  a  child,"  she  said. 

"I  ?    Not  at  all.     I  don't  like  children,"  said  Victor. 

"Don't  you  like  Peggy?" 

"Not  much.    Look  at  the  trouble  she  is  to  us  all." 

"She  would  be  no  trouble  to  anyone  if  she  was  with 
me." 

"She  would  eat  too  much  ice-cream,"  said  Victor,  and 
their  eyes  met,  his  twinkling  with  laughter  and  hers 
taken  by  surprise. 

"How  can  I  say  'No'  to  her  when  she  is  with  me  for 
a  moment — like  a  dream?"  said  Daphne,  her  voice 
troubled.  "But  the  dream  has  been  a  delight.  I  can 
live  on  it  till  it  conies  again.  It  is  kind  of  you.  .  .  ." 

"When  shall  we  come  again?  When  may  I  come 
again  ?" 

"Whenever  you  please." 

"Without  Peggy  as  well  as  with  her?" 


222  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"If  you  like." 

"Will  you  play  to  me  some  evening?" 

"Come  to  dinner  to-morrow,"  said  Daphne.  "To-night 
I  shall  be  playing  with  Signer  Sarzoni,  but  to-morrow 
I  shall  be  alone." 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

AT  dinner  that  night  Peggy  was  full  of  airs  and 
graces.  That  the  two  children  should  have  been 
allowed  to  sit  up  to  dinner  at  all  surprised  and 
grieved  Miss  Busby,  who  said  that  she  had  been  used 
all  her  life  to  quiet  evenings.  She  supposed  it  was  a  case 
of  doing  what  the  Romans  do  when  in  Rome,  and  in 
such  overpowering  heat  it  was  certainly  impossible  to 
venture  out  of  doors  before  six.  Still,  she  did  not  think 
hotel  food  suitable  for  children  at  night.  However,  Mrs. 
Twstleton  had  said  they  were  all  to  come  down. 

Miss  Busby  sighed.  She  grumbled  without  ceasing 
to  Victor  and  the  children,  but  not  to  Mrs.  Twistleton, 
who  had  a  way  of  cutting  her  short  that  was  effective 
but  unkind,  and  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  just  appeared. 

"I  suppose  you  and  Mabel  have  been  to  sleep  all  the 
afternoon,"  she  said  now,  for  she  heard  the  end  of  the 
lady's  plaint. 

"We  did  lie  down,"  admitted  Miss  Busby.  "When 
you  can't  go  to  bed  till  twelve  because  of  the  noise  out- 
side and  wake  early  as  I  do.  .  .  ." 

"You  know  I  had  to  wake  you  at  half-past  five  this 
afternoon,"  said  Mabel.  "I  could  hear  you  snore  through 
the  wall." 

"I've  not  been  to  sleep,"  said  Peggy,  who  sat  next  to 
Victor  at  dinner  by  his  desire,  and  took  strength  from 
his  proximity.  "I've  not  been  to  sleep.  But  I've  had 
ices  for  tea:  ices  and  strawberries." 

"Where  did  you  have  tea?"  asked  Mabel  enviously. 

"With  my  mother.  So  did  Mr.  Gerard.  I  don't  want 
223 


224  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

this  hot  soup.  It  would  make  me  forget  the  ice.  Can 
I  leave  it,  Mr.  Gerard?" 

"No,"  said  Victor.     "Eat  your  dinner  and  be  quiet." 

For  he  saw  a  storm  gathering  in  Mrs.  Twistleton's  face 
and  did  not  want  it  to  break  either  on  Peggy's  head  or 
on  his  own.  He  had  not  realized  beforehand  that  Peggy 
would  chatter  about  a  visit  to  her  mother,  but  he  ought 
to  have  done.  Children  always  did  what  was  tiresome 
and  inconvenient,  and  he  would  like  someone  to  tell  him 
why  he  was  sitting  here  at  dinner  with  two  who  did  not 
belong  to  him. 

"Couldn't  you  take  me  with  you  ?"  inquired  Mabel. 

"I'll  ask  next  time  I  go,"  said  Peggy. 

"There  will  be  no  next  time,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton 
harshly.  "I  shall  not  allow  you  to  go  again." 

Peggy  turned  her  scared  eyes  first  on  her  step-mother 
and  then  on  Victor,  as  if  to  ask  him  whether  he  was 
going  to  second  such  a  veto  and  if  it  could  be  imposed 
without  him.  But  the  mask  of  his  face  told  her  nothing. 
He  helped  himself  to  tomatoes  stuffed  with  rice  and  ate 
them  silently.  The  rest  of  the  meal  was  uncomfortable 
and  chiefly  sustained  by  Miss  Busby's  prattle,  which  was 
meant  to  be  helpful  but  only  succeeded  in  being  weari- 
some. She  saw  that  dear  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  annoyed, 
and  she  rather  thought  that  dear  Mr.  Gerard  was  an- 
noyed too.  Two  such  strong  natures ! 

"You  can  take  the  children  to  the  Lizza  for  an  hour 
and  then  they  must  go  to  bed,"  Mrs.  Twistleton  said  to 
her  directly  they  got  up  from  table. 

"Can't  we  have  ices  to-night?"  said  Mabel. 

"No,"  said  her  mother  sharply. 

"I've  had  ices,"  said  Peggy,  with  an  insufferable  air  of 
triumph,  and  though  she  did  not  put  out  her  tongue  at 
Mabel,  the  pink  tip  of  it  certainly  appeared  and  dis- 
appeared as  they  left  the  dining-room.  Mrs.  Twistleton, 
followed  by  Victor,  went  to  a  corner  of  the  lounge  and 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  225 

ordered  coffee  there.  They  both  lighted  cigarettes  and 
seemed  to  be  in  a  silent  mood.  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  in 
a  state  of  nervous  exasperation  that  showed  itself  in  the 
lines  about  her  mouth  and  the  sulky  gloom  of  her  eyes. 
Victor  feared  she  wanted  to  quarrel  with  him  and  wished 
he  could  get  away :  but  he  thought  it  would  not  be  easy. 
He  could  not  plead  an  engagement  in  a  town  where 
he  knew  no  one  but  Daphne,  and  if  he  said  he  was  going 
for  a  stroll  Mrs.  Twistleton  would  probably  offer  to  go 
with  him.  Till  lately  he  had  thought  her  a  woman  of 
tact  and  discretion,  but  here  in  Siena  she  had  shown 
herself  wanting  in  these  qualities.  She  was  too  much 
with  him  and  not  always  agreeable.  .  .  . 

"I  suppose  you  are  very  angry  ?"  she  began,  when  some 
people  at  a  neighboring  table  went  out  and  left  them  in 
their  corner  with  no  one  near. 

"Why  should  I  be  angry?" 

"Because  of  what  I  said  to  Peggy  at  dinner:  but  I 
felt  driven  to  it." 

"I  think  you  made  a  mistake." 

"Why?" 

"You  spoke  without  the  power  to  enforce.  Isn't  that 
a  mistake  as  a  rule?" 

"You  mean  you  will  take  Peggy  to  see  her  mother  in 
spite  of  what  I  said  ?" 

"You  should  not  have  said  it." 

"The  situation  is  intolerable.  I  know  I  can  end  it 
to-morrow  by  leaving  Siena,  but  I  don't  choose  to  yet. 
It  is  you  who  make  it  difficult.  It  need  not  have  been. 
I  thought  you  came  here  as  my  friend.  I  thought  that 
we  should  act  together.  .  .  ." 

This  was  worse  than  anything.  Victor  turned  hot  and 
cold  with  the  discomfort  of  it.  He  hoped  he  was  not  a 
fatuous  man,  but  there  are  glances  and  tones  no  one  can 
mistake :  and  how  is  a  man  to  answer  approaches  he  has 
not  invited  and  does  not  desire?  A  woman  may  be  as 


226  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

curt  as  she  pleases  in  her  rejection  of  unwelcome  ad- 
dresses, but  the  strong  unwritten  laws  of  chivalry  make 
it  difficult  for  men  when  they  are  pursued  instead  of 
pursuing.  They  must  pretend,  as  long  as  they  can,  not 
to  see. 

"You  want  to  stay  for  the  Palio?"  he  said. 

"I  want  to.  We  have  our  seats.  It's  only  a  week  now. 
When  shall  you  see  Mrs.  Coverdale  again?" 

"To-morrow.     I'm  going  to  dine  with  her." 

He  did  not  know  why  he  should  be  made  to  feel  like  a 
criminal  when  he  announced  this  harmless  engagement, 
but  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  offense  it  gave: 
and  Mrs.  Twistleton,  who  could  usually  keep  her  temper 
when  it  served  her  to  do  so,  now  lost  it. 

"It  would  have  been  in  better  taste  not  to  tell  me," 
she  said,  and  her  voice  was  unsteady  with  rage.  Peggy's 
stories  about  her  step-mother,  which  he  had  only  half 
believed,  crossed  Victor's  mind  with  uncomfortable 
reality.  They  were  illustrated  and  supported  by  the 
lowering  passion  in  the  face  before  him.  He  only  an- 
swered her  last  remark  by  a  slight  movement  of  dis- 
pleasure. 

"It  was  not  what  my  husband  expected  .  .  .  this 
friendship  with  his  first  wife,"  she  continued  more 
smoothly.  "It  would  have  surprised  him." 

"It  surprises  me,"  said  Victor.  "But  one  takes  life 
as  it  comes." 

"It  places  you  in  the  opposite  camp." 

"What  do  you  mean?  The  poor  woman  is  breaking 
her  heart  because  I  took  her  child  from  her  by  main 
force.  I  felt  like  a  brute  when  I  did  it.  So  to-day  I 
let  the  child  go  there  for  two  or  three  hours,  and  to- 
morrow. .  .  ." 

"To-morrow  you  are  to  reap  your  reward.  I  under- 
stand." 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  227 

"Well,  I'm  going  out,"  said  Victor,  and  got  up.  He 
was  furiously  angry,  and  not  only  angry,  but  harassed. 
He  wanted  to  take  the  taste  out  of  his  mouth,  he  said 
to  himself,  the  evil  taste  of  envy  and  insinuation:  and 
to  shake  off  the  uncomfortable  impressions  of  the  last 
half-hour.  He  walked  as  far  as  the  Porta  Camollia 
first,  but  the  air  was  breathless  to-night  and  the  paved 
street  noisy  and  dusty.  So  on  his  way  back  he  struck 
across  the  Lizza  and  made  for  the  point  of  the  fortress 
from  which  he  had  seen  Siena  on  her  hills  by  night. 
As  he  approached  it  he  saw  the  glow  of  sunset  through 
the  trees  and  stood  for  a  while  watching  it.  In  the 
distance  the  mountains  slept  in  the  balmy  haze  of  the 
Italian  night.  The  sky  was  beginning  to  be  full  of  stars 
and  up  here  the  air  was  faintly  stirring  and  cooler  than 
in  the  city.  There  were  a  few  people  about,  but  not 
many.  The  crowds  were  in  the  streets  or  in  the  broad 
graveled  paths  below.  When  he  got  to  the  stone  seat 
he  wanted  there  was  one  figure  on  it.  His  heart  leaped 
against  his  side  when  he  saw  that  it  was  Daphne. 

"I  thought  you  were  at  home  .  .  .  having  music,"  he 
said. 

"Signor  Sarzoni  put  me  off,"  she  said,  "so  I  came  out 
for  a  breath  of  air." 

"It's  late  for  you  to  be  out  alone  .  .  .  isn't  it?" 

"Not  for  Siena.  Everyone  is  out  now  after  the  heat 
of  the  day.  I've  met  half  my  friends." 

"But  you'll  let  me  see  you  home  afterwards,  won't 
you?  The  streets  are  very  crowded." 

"I  go  back  by  quiet  ways  that  you  wouldn't  know." 

The  bad  taste  had  gone.  To  be  with  Daphne  after 
the  other  woman  was  like  hearing  music  after  a  brawl. 
Her  face  was  beauty  and  her  voice  was  peace.  An  idea 
hatched  that  moment  in  the  serenity  and  charm  of  her 
presence  came  to  his  lips. 


228  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"I'm  so  glad  I've  met  you,"  he  said.  "I  want  to  take 
Peggy  to  San  Gimignano,  just  for  the  day,  in  a  car. 
Could  you  come  too?" 

"Yes,  I  could,"  she  said  softly,  and  though  his  own 
spirits  rose  to  the  thrill  of  pleasure  in  her  answer  he 
heard  a  note  of  hesitation  too. 

'What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  met  Peggy  with  her  governess  and  Mabel.  She 
rushed  up  to  me  in  a  commotion  and  said  she  was  not 
to  be  allowed  to  see  me  again.  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  told 
her  so  at  dinner." 

"She  did." 

"But  then  .  .  .  won't  it  give  great  umbrage  if  you  take 
us  to  San  Gimignano  for  a  whole  day?" 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Victor.  "I'm  going  to  do 
it  ...  if  you'll  come." 

"Won't  it  mean  war?" 

"Not  of  my  making.  If  people  make  war  on  me  I'll 
fight." 

"But  what  about  Peggy?" 

"I'll  look  after  Peggy." 

Daphne  was  silent,  because  she  knew  that  he  could 
not  look  after  Peggy  and  that  it  was  useless  to  tell  him 
so.  The  very  next  day  she  saw  an  instance  of  the  way 
the  child  was  treated  when  he  was  not  there.  She  went 
into  Mosca's  shop  to  buy  some  sweets  she  wanted  for 
her  dinner-table,  and  from  the  shop  she  could  see  into 
the  tea-room  where  Mrs.  Twistleton  sat  at  a  table  with 
Miss  Busby  and  the  children.  She  saw  them,  and  they 
saw  her,  she  felt  sure.  Only  Peggy  could  not  see  her 
because  she  sat  with  her  back  to  the  shop.  She  seemed 
to  be  crying,  and  in  a  moment  Mrs.  Twistleton's  voice 
speaking  to  the  child  reached  Daphne  clearly  across  the 
quiet  room,  for  no  one  else  was  in  there  at  the 
time. 

"If  you  don't  stop  crying  at  once  I'll  send  you  straight 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  229 

to  bed  when  we  get  home,"  Rhoda  said.  How  well 
Daphne  remembered  her  voice  and  hated  it! 

"I'm  so  thirsty,"  said  Peggy,  and  now  Daphne,  by 
taking  a  step  forward,  could  see  that  the  two  women 
were  at  tea  and  that  Mabel  had  a  glass  of  syrup  and 
water  with  ice  in  it  before  her :  but  her  child  had  nothing. 

"You  disobeyed  my  orders  last  night,"  said  Mrs. 
Twistleton.  "Whenever  you  do  that  you'll  be  punished. 
If  you  were  not  as  stupid  as  you  are  troublesome  you 
might  know  it  by  this  time." 

"Can  I  have  some  water?"  said  Peggy. 

"When  you  get  home.     It  won't  hurt  you  to  wait." 

"What  could  I  do  ?"  Daphne  said  to  Victor  that  night 
as  they  sat  at  dinner  together. 

"What  did  you  do?"  he  asked. 

"I  went  away,"  she  said.  "There  was  nothing  else  to 
do  since  my  child  does  not  belong  to  me." 

"They  should  never  have  come  to  Siena,"  said  Victor. 
"You  would  have  been  spared  this  sort  of  thing  if  Mrs. 
Twistleton  would  have  taken  my  advice.  I  wanted  to 
come  here  by  myself,  get  hold  of  Peggy  and  take  her 
to  them  at  Genoa.  Then  they  could  have  gone  to  Porto- 
fino  or  Viareggio  for  this  hot  weather  and  had  bath- 
ing." 

Daphne  did  not  speak  for  a  little  while.  They  were 
nearly  at  the  end  of  dinner  and  she  was  peeling  a  peach 
for  herself.  After  weeks  of  hotel  meals  Victor  had 
enjoyed  every  stage  and  circumstance  of  this  one:  the 
quiet,  cool  room,  the  thin  glass  and  old  silver  on  the 
table,  and  even  the  cooking  that  he  chose  to  think  un- 
usually good.  He  was  tired  of  hotels,  he  said  to  himself, 
and  tired  of  knocking  about  the  world.  But  he  did  not 
see  his  way  yet  to  the  next  step.  Here  things  were 
getting  rather  difficult  and  he  would  be  glad  when  the 
time  came  to  go  away.  But  when  he  went  he  would 
never  see  Daphne  again  unless  he  came  back  some  day  to 


230  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

bring  her  news  of  Peggy.  She  wore  red  to-night,  deep, 
clear  red,  woven  through  and  through  with  threads  of 
gold.  She  looked  like  the  Madonna  he  loved  most  in 
the  picture  gallery:  the  fair-haired  Madonna  carrying 
her  child,  but  the  lower  part  of  her  face  was  not  as 
narrow.  The  same  painter  had  painted  the  saint  he  had 
seen  this  afternoon  in  the  bleak,  bare  church  on  the 
headland :  the  fair-haired  Santa  Barbara  carrying  her ' 
tower.  Daphne  was  even  more  like  her  than  like  the 
Madonna,  and  she  was  dressed  like  the  saint  to-night  in 
red  and  gold.  He  had  escaped  from  the  others  this 
afternoon  and  gone  out  by  himself,  and  apparently  Mrs. 
Twistleton  had  taken  the  opportunity  to  bully  Peggy.  * 
In  his  presence  she  had  never  yet  dared  to  do  it.  Still, 
the  child  could  get  water  at  home:  and  probably  she 
had  been  troublesome.  He  had  never  been  able  to  make 
up  his  mind  that  there  was  definite  ill-treatment:  bad 
enough  to  make  a  rupture  necessary:  and  yet  he  had 
never  felt  easy.  Besides,  if  he  took  the  child  from  her 
step-mother  what  was  he  to  do  with  her  except  send 
her  to  school? 

"I'm  glad  Mrs.  Twistleton  didn't  take  your  advice," 
said  Daphne,  breaking  in  on  his  meditations.  "Since 
you  control  Peggy's  destinies  at  present  I  am  glad  that 
I  have  got  to  know  you." 

Victor's  eyes  had  the  twinkle  in  them  that  Peggy 
looked  for  when  he  spoke  sternly  to  her  but  was  ready 
to  laugh  the  next  moment.  But  though  his  glance  was 
humorous  it  was  rueful  too.  He  would  have  wished 
Daphne  to  welcome  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  not  only 
for  Peggy's.  However,  considering  the  part  he  had  to 
play  in  her  life  he  could  hardly  expect  it.  A  week  or 
two  ago  she  had  refused  to  take  his  hand. 

"The  first  time  I  saw  you  when  I  told  you  that  Peggy 
had  been  ill-treated  you  did  not  believe  me,"  she  went  on. 

"I  believed  you  thought  so,"  he  amended.    "I've  never 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  231 

seen  actual  ill-treatment  myself.  I  know  there  is  friction, 
and  perhaps  at  times  harshness  .  .  .  but.  .  .  ." 

"Can't  you  send  her  to  a  good  school  where  she  would 
be  well  taken  care  of?" 

"I  suppose  I  could;  in  fact,  I've  thought  of  it,  but 
isn't  she  rather  young?" 

"No.  She  would  be  better  at  school  than  where 
she  is." 

"Then  I'll  think  of  it  for  the  autumn." 

"The  autumn  is  a  long  way  off." 

Victor,  who  had  just  lighted  a  cigarette,  watched  the 
smoke  from  it  and  did  not  speak :  partly  because  Giuditta 
came  in  with  coffee  and  liqueurs  and  partly  because  he 
had  nothing  to  say.  Daphne  got  up  from  table  then 
and  they  went  out  on  the  terrace,  where  the  coffee-tray 
had  been  set  for  them.  She  began  to  talk  of  other  things, 
and  after  a  time  she  offered  to  play  to  him.  He  went 
into  the  sitting-room  with  her  and  watched  her  as  she 
played,  watched  her  slim,  supple  hands  and  her  profile 
as  she  listened  to  her  own  harmonies.  She  should  have 
been  Santa  Cecilia,  he  thought,  but  she  was  like  Santa 
Barbara  with  her  tower.  He  saw  no  vein  of  coquetry 
in  her  or  of  lightness.  She  was  a  simple,  rather  serious 
woman  who  had  had  the  high  spirits  of  youth  quenched 
by  the  realities  of  life,  and  especially  by  the  loss  of  her 
child.  She  was  probably  one  of  those  women  to  whom 
the  child  is  everything:  more  than  any  man.  The  fates 
drove  him  to  stand  between  her  and  her  heart's  desire 
when  it  would  have  pleased  him  better  to  give  her  what 
she  wanted  and  see  her  happy  again.  However,  it  could 
not  be  helped. 

"He  will  go  his  own  way  and  pay  no  attention  to 
what  I  tell  him,"  Daphne  thought  to  herself  as  she 
played.  "My  first  impression  of  him  was  the  right  one. 
He  is  kind  as  long  as  you  do  not  cross  him,  but  directly 
you  do  you  come  to  hardness.  He  admits  it  himself. 


232  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

Besides,  you  see  it  in  his  face,  especially  when  he  is  not 
talking  and  laughing.  I  wonder  if  he  is  going  to  marry 
Rhoda.  It  didn't  sound  like  it  yesterday  when  he  talked 
of  San  Gimignano.  But  one  never  knows." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  Victor,  for  it  was 
nearly  dark  in  the  room  now  and  Daphne  had  left  off 
playing.  They  had  sat  silent  for  some  time,  and  he 
could  still  make  out  her  figure  at  the  piano  and  her  face 
turned  towards  him  when  he  spoke. 

"I  was  thinking  of  your  marriage,"  she  said,  with  the 
audacity  born  of  the  intimate  hour  and  of  the  darkness. 

"Of  my  marriage!" 

"Yes.    If  you  married  the  wrong  woman,  Peggy " 

Victor  stopped  her  with  an  ejaculation  that  sounded 
as  if  it  would  have  been  "Damn  Peggy !"  if  it  had  been 
articulate. 

"Are  you  never  going  to  think  of  me  except  in  relation 
to  Peggy?"  he  asked. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

VICTOR  had  arranged  the  expedition  to  San  Gimi- 
gnano  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  he  had 
ordered  the  car  to  be  at  the  hotel  at  9  o'clock, 
but  he  had  not  said  anything  about  it  yet  to  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton  or  Peggy.  He  had  hardly  seen  Mrs.  Twistleton 
yesterday,  except  at  lunch,  when  she  had  been  in  a  silent 
mood:  so  that  the  others,  affected  by  her  sullenness, 
became  silent  too,  and  ate  without  speaking.  The  meal 
had  been  somber  and  Victor  was  counting  the  days  now 
to  his  departure,  for  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave 
Siena  and  bid  Mrs.  Twistleton  good-by  directly  after 
the  Palio.  The  situation  had  become  difficult  and  a 
little  ridiculous:  and  the  only  way  to  end  it  was  to  go. 
He  must  break  the  news  to  Daphne  somehow,  and  he 
dreaded  that.  She  would  want  him  to  hover  near  Peggy 
indefinitely  and  protect  her,  but  he  could  not  do  it. 
Women  were  unreasonable.  Peggy  would  come  to  no 
harm  for  the  next  few  months,  and  in  the  autumn  he 
would  send  her  to  a  good  school.  She  would  be  happier 
at  school  than  with  her  step-mother,  who  certainly  dis- 
liked her.  Even  now  Victor  did  not  believe  that  there 
was  anything  serious  to  complain  of :  at  least,  he  did 
not  believe  it  steadily,  but  he  was  not  quite  easy,  and 
if  Miss  Busby  had  been  a  different  person  he  might 
have  confided  in  her  and  put  her  on  guard.  But  Miss 
Busby  had  a  soft  job  and  knew  it.  Besides,  there  was 
no  fight  in  her.  She  crumpled  up  at  a  look  from  Mrs. 
Twistleton.  She  would  be  in  a  fluster  this  morning  when 
he  proposed  to  take  Peggy  off  for  the  day,  and  she  would 
cackle  and  argue.  .  .  .  Victor  wanted  to  shake  himself 

233 


234  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

as  a  dog  does  when  it  comes  out  of  the  water :  he  wanted 
to  shake  himself  free  of  his  present  traveling  companions. 

Mrs.  Twistleton  always  had  her  breakfast  upstairs, 
but  when  he  went  into  the  dining-room  at  half -past  eight 
Miss  Busby  and  the  children  were  there  and  were  ap- 
parently having  an  altercation. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,  Mr.  Gerard,"  said  Miss 
Busby  before  he  was  across  the  room.  "I  can  do  noth- 
ing with  Peggy  this  morning,  and  Mabel,  who  is  old 
enough  to  know  better,  is  nearly  as  bad.  I  wish  you 
would  speak  to  them." 

"I'll  do  more  than  speak  to  them  if  you  want  me  to," 
said  Victor,  summoning  a  waiter  as  he  talked.  "If  you 

like  I'll  get  a  thick  stick I  don't  know  why  they  are 

laughing." 

"It's  that  colonel  of  cavalry,"  fretted  Miss  Busby. 
"Really,  he  and  his  family.  .  .  ." 

"Those  people  at  the  next  table?  I  thought  they 
seemed  pleasant.  But  they  are  not  here  now." 

"They  have  only  just  gone.  The  colonel — I  know  he 
is  a  colonel  because  his  friends  address  him  as  Colonello, 
so  I  asked  our  waiter.  If  you  can  believe  it,  Mr.  Gerard, 
he  is  a  colonel  of  cavalry." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  believe  it?"  said  Victor. 

"But,  Mr.  Gerard,  have  you  noticed  him  shoveling 
food  into  his  mouth  with  his  knife?" 

"I  have." 

"If  it  was  infantry!  But  cavalry!  And  this  morn- 
ing he  buttered  bread  for  the  whole  family  with  a  tea- 
spoon, and  when  it  was  buttered — when  it  was  buttered, 
Mr.  Gerard — they  all  sopped  the  slices  in  their  coffee, 
and  bit  them:  and  Mabel  and  Peggy  wanted  to  do  the 
same.  I  was  just  explaining  to  them  that  English  people 
should  set  an  example  at  table:  but  they  pay  no  atten- 
tion to  me.  Hotel  life  has  not  a  good  effect  on  them: 
and  as  for  lessons  here,  they  are  a  farce.  We  might 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  235 

as  well  be  out  in  the  Lizza  while  it  is  cool,  but  Mrs. 
Twistleton  thinks  it  better.  .  .  ." 

"You  won't  mind  my  taking  Peggy  off  for  the  day, 
then  ?"  said  Victor,  breaking  in  when  Miss  Busby  stopped 
for  breath. 

"When?"  asked  Miss  Busby. 

"To-day.  This  moment.  The  car  will  be  here  at  nine. 
Peggy,  go  and  get  your  hat." 

"Are  we  going  out  in  the  car?  Where  to?  Shall  we 
be  back  to  lunch?" 

"Don't  ask  questions.  Do  as  you  are  told.  Quick! 
Off  with  you." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  Peggy  and  not  me?  Can't 
I  come  too?" 

"Not  to-day.    I'll  take  you  both  to-morrow." 

"But  does  Mrs.  Twistleton  know?" 

Miss  Busby  and  the  children  all  seemed  to  speak  at 
once.  Peggy  was  full  of  joy.  Mabel  was  nearly  crying 
and  Miss  Busby  looked  uncertain  and  alarmed. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  consult  Mrs.  Twistleton,"  she 
suggested. 

"By  all  means,"  said  Victor,  and  got  up.  He  was 
in  the  hall  with  Peggy  about  ten  minutes  later  when 
Miss  Busby  appeared. 

"Mrs.  Twistleton  says  that  Peggy  is  not  to  go,"  she 
whispered.  It  was  a  distressing  moment  for  her  because 
she  was  obliged  to  deliver  the  message  and  felt  afraid 
of  its  effect.  However,  Victor  did  not  slay  her  on  the 
spot,  or  even  show  any  anger.  He  just  turned  to  Peggy. 

"Go  and  get  into  the  car,"  he  said,  and  then  he  walked 
straight  upstairs  and  knocked  at  Mrs.  Twistleton's  door. 
Miss  Busby  had  followed  him  and  heard  Mrs.  Twistleton 
tell  him  to  come  in.  She  wondered  what  would  happen. 
Two  such  strong  natures ! 

The  room  was  in  semi-darkness  becav  ;e  the  jalousies 
were  shut,  but  Victor  saw  that  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  in 


236  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

an  easy  chair  with  her  coffee-tray  on  a  table  beside  her. 
She  looked  up  at  him  angrily  when  he  went  in,  and 
waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  he  began,  for  he  felt  that  he  owed 
her  some  apology.  "I  ought  to  have  told  you  yesterday." 

Still  she  did  not  speak,  and  when  he  grew  more  accus- 
tomed to  the  light  he  saw  that  she  was  silent  as  the 
air  is  before  the  storm  bursts.  Her  face  shocked  him 
when  he  saw  it  like  this,  without  its  usual  mask  of  placid 
self-control;  just  as  once  or  twice  certain  tones  in  her 
voice  had  shocked  him  by  their  unexpected  savagery. 

"Peggy  is  not  to  go,"  she  said  between  her  teeth. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  again,  "but  I'm  afraid  she  must. 
I've  made  the  engagement  for  her." 

"With  that  woman?" 

"With  her  mother,  yes." 

"It  is  insufferable.  It  is  insulting  to  me,  but  I  suppose 
you  are  in  that  creature's  power  and  cannot  see  it." 

"I  certainly  don't  see  it,"  said  Victor.  "I  daresay  I 
ought  to  have  said  something  yesterday :  but  I  only  saw 
you  at  lunch." 

"If  you  take  Peggy  to-day  I  shall  complain  to  my 
husband's  solicitors.  I  will  not  act  with  you  any  longer ; 
you  must  resign  the  trust." 

"I  shall  not  do  that." 

"He  would  never  have  appointed  you  if  he  had  known 
what  was  going  to  happen." 

"I  must  go,"  said  Victor,  and  got  out  of  the  room  as 
best  he  could.  Five  days  still  to  the  Palio,  in  an  atmos- 
phere as  sulphurous  as  this.  He  began  to  wonder 
whether  he  could  endure  it  and  what  would  happen  if 
he  went  away,  leaving  Peggy  behind.  He  could  not  take 
her  with  him:  at  least,  he  would  not.  Even  Daphne 
could  not  expect  that  of  him :  but  was  there  any  limit 
to  what  Daph  ic  would  expect  where  Peggy  was  con- 
cerned ? 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  237 

"You've  brought  no  wrap  for  her.  It  may  be  cold 
as  we  come  back,"  she  said,  the  moment  she  saw  them 
this  morning;  and  would  have  rushed  upstairs  herself  if 
Victor  had  not  been  too  quick  for  her  and  barred  the 
way  while  she  told  him  what  to  ask  for.  How  charming 
she  looked,  laughing  and  protesting,  as  he  stood  above 
her  on  the  staircase.  She  wore  white  to-day  and  car- 
ried a  scarlet  cotton  sunshade:  one  of  those  with  a  striped 
edge  that  English  people  buy  in  Italy,  but  that  no  Italians 
use.  The  shadow  that  usually  clouded  her  face  had 
vanished,  and  he  got  an  impression  of  what  she  would 
look  like  if  she  was  a  happy  woman  instead  of  a  be- 
reaved one.  He  wished  he  knew  a  little  more  about 
her  past  history:  how  she  had  come  to  marry  Mr. 
Twistleton  and  then  to  leave  him.  She  must  have  been 
a  child  at  the  time.  She  did  not  look  more  than  twenty- 
six  or  twenty-seven  now:  and  after  all,  what  did  her 
history  matter  when  the  windows  of  her  soul  were  clear 
and  shining?  She  must  lead  a  lonely  life  now  and  a 
sad  one.  Yet  she  made  it  attractive.  She  was  one  of 
those  women  who  would  turn  a  cave  into  a  home  and 
give  it  a  character  and  an  atmosphere:  but  she  must 
feel  that  her  empty  home  was  a  mockery.  He  liked  to 
see  her  and  Peggy  together :  and  after  to-day  there  could 
not  be  much  more  of  it.  She  should  enjoy  to-day  and 
so  would  he. 

"I  wish  we  were  always  together,"  said  Peggy,  just 
before  they  reached  Colle.  "I  like  being  all  alone  with 
you,  Mummy,  but  when  Mr.  Gerard  is  with  us  we  do 
more  exciting  things.  Miss  Busby  says  that  we  are  going 
to  a  place  called  Vallombrosa  after  the  Palio  and  that 
it  is  full  of  dead  leaves  and  will  not  agree  with  her.  Are 
you  coming  there  with  us,  Mr.  Gerard?  I  hope  you 
are." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Victor,  who  wanted  to  choose 
his  own  time  for  telling  Daphne  that  he  meant  to  return 


238  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

to  England:  but  he  saw  by  her  sudden  glance  at  him 
that  she  had  taken  fright.  She  said  nothing  just  then, 
but  the  idea  of  his  departure  had  entered  her  mind  and 
troubled  it:  so  that  her  day  was  not  as  care-free  as  he 
wished.  He  knew  that  whenever  she  was  silent  she  was 
thinking  of  the  future  and  of  what  would  happen  to 
her  child  when  he  was  gone. 

Presently  in  front  of  them  they  saw  San  Gimignano 
set  on  its  hill,  its  tall,  square-built  towers  rising  from  its 
ancient  houses  and  standing  out  against  the  cloudless  blue 
of  the  sky.  Night  was  the  time  to  see  the  place,  Daphne 
told  Victor:  a  warm  Italian  night  when  every  archway 
and  courtyard,  every  by-street  and  balcony  were  in  deep 
shadow  or  shown  to  you  in  the  white,  mysterious  light 
of  the  moon,  when  the  owls  cried  from  tower  to  tower 
and  when  the  clocks  tolling  the  hours  called  to  mind 
nights  long  ago  when  they  had  tolled  away  the  lives 
of  men  doomed  to  die  at  dawn.  She  told  him  the  story 
of  the  two  young  brothers  done  to  death  in  front  of 
their  own  house  on  the  Piazza  and  afterwards  terribly 
avenged:  and  she  told  him  about  Santa  Fina,  who  lay 
on  a  plank  and  rotted  till  she  died.  And  she  told  Peggy 
about  St.  Augustine  and  Gozzoli's  picture  of  the  child 
who  had  been  spanked  by  the  schoolmaster. 

"We  will  go  and  see  that  first,"  said  Peggy.  "I  don't 
want  to  see  the  other  things.  I'm  tired  of  cathe- 
drals." 

But  they  did  not  go  there  until  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  by  that  time  they  had  done  a  good  deal  and  were 
tired.  However,  Peggy's  interest  revived  when  she  saw 
this  record  of  an  episode  that  roused  her  sympathies,  and 
she  studied  it  with  attention. 

"When  she  whips  me  she  puts  me  on  the  bed,"  she 
said. 

Daphne  shuddered  and  turned  away. 

"Come  for  a  little  walk  on  the  ramparts,"  she  said 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  239 

to  Victor.  "There  are  lovely  views,  and  we  can  sit  in 
the  shade." 

"You  seem  to  know  the  place  well,"  he  said  jealously. 

"I've  only  been  once  before,  years  ago.  We  came  from 
Florence  and  stayed  a  week." 

"You  and  Major  Coverdale?" 

"Yes." 

They  walked  on  together  in  silence,  ghosts  between 
them.  But  before  long  they  found  a  place  where  they 
sat  down,  while  Peggy,  seeing  a  slope  bright  with  field 
flowers,  ran  a  little  way  off  to  gather  them. 

"You  are  not  doing  your  duty,"  said  Daphne,  with 
a  little  catch  in  her  breath  that  told  Victor  she  was  half 
afraid  to  speak  but  yet  felt  that  she  must.  He  had 
been  studying  the  pure  lines  of  her  profile  and  wishing 
he  might  tuck  away  a  delicate  tendril  of  her  hair  that 
the  breeze  blew  here  and  there  inconveniently.  She  tried 
to  do  it  herself  once  or  twice,  but  it  evaded  her,  perhaps 
because  her  thoughts  were  on  other  things. 

"You  have  the  power.  You  ought  to  use  it,"  she  went 
on.  "You  ought  to  make  it  impossible  for  Peggy  to  be 
badly  treated.  The  idea  of  that  woman  whipping  her 
drives  me  crazy.  I  would  take  her  away  again  and  hide 
if  I  could  go  where  you  would  never  find  us." 

"Would  you  ?"  said  Victor. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  startled  by  the  depths  in  his  voice. 
"I  would." 

"Wherever  you  went  I  should  find  you.  I  should 
want  to  find  you." 

"To  get  hold  of  the  child  again?" 

"To  see  you."  The  color  came  into  her  face  at  his 
tone,  but  she  held  out  her  arms  to  Peggy,  who  came 
running  towards  them  with  a  bunch  of  poppies  that  she 
insisted  on  fastening  in  her  mother's  dress. 

"You  must  stay  with  us  now  and  get  cool  before  the 
drive  home,"  said  Daphne,  and  let  the  child  wriggle  into 


240  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

a  place  between  Victor  and  herself  and  arrange  her 
flowers  there:  so  the  intimate  moment  ended  and  did 
not  come  again  that  day.  But  she  asked  him,  as  they 
sat  there,  whether  he  was  going  to  Vallombrosa. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  back  to  England 
directly  after  the  Palio." 

"Need  you  go?" 

"I'm  going.  I'm  tired  of  this  life.  I  want  to  get 
to  work  again." 

"What  is  your  work?" 

"I  was  in  business  in  Australia.  I  may  go  there  again. 
I  had  a  letter  the  other  day  from  my  late  partner  sug- 
gesting that  I  should." 

"In  that  case,  of  course,  you  would  resign  your  trust  ?" 

Victor  laughed,  but  not  mirthfully :  got  up  and  offered 
Daphne  his  hand  to  help  her  up,  for  they  had  been  sitting 
on  the  ground. 

"We  ought  to  be  going,"  he  said.  "I  seem  to  be  a 
success  as  a  guardian  and  trustee.  I've  been  asked  twice 
in  one  day  to  resign  the  job." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  home  yet,"  said  Peggy.  "Why 
can't  we  stay  here  all  night,  and  to-morrow  too,  and 
to-morrow  night  ?  Why  do  things  always  end  when  they 
are  nice  and  last  when  they  are  horrid?  What  is  going 
to  happen  to  me  when  you  go  to  England,  Mr.  Gerard? 
Can  I  go  back  to  Mummy?  I  hope  I  sha'n't  have  to 
go  to  Vallombrosa  with  them.  It  is  not  as  bad  in  a 
hotel  as  it  used  to  be  at  Beda  Close,  but  I'm  very  miser- 
able when  you  are  not  there.  Yesterday  dinner,  was 
like  Beda  Close.  You  feel  as  if  a  black  cloth  was  on 
the  table  and  it  makes  you  black  inside.  I  was  sent 
upstairs  because  I  ate  my  beans  with  a  knife,  but  I  was 
only  trying  to  imitate  the  colonello  and  make  Mabel 
laugh.  I  hope  you'll  be  there  to-night.  If  you  are  not 
I  shall  go  to  bed  and  hide.  There  is  sure  to  be  a  row." 

"Why?"  asked  Daphne.    Victor  had  turned  silent  and 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  241 

rather  gloomy,  so  that  she  was  glad  of  the  child's  chatter 
at  the  moment. 

"Because  I  was  forbidden  to  come  to-day,"  said  Peggy. 

"Then  how  is  it  that  you  did  come?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  suppose  Mr.  Gerard  does.  He  told 
me  to  get  into  the  car  and  we  came.  Did  you  persuade 
her  to  change  her  mind,  Mr.  Gerard,  or  did  we  just 
come  ?" 

"We  just  came,"  said  Victor. 

"Then  there  will  be  a  row,"  said  Peggy. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

FGGY  proved  mistaken.  There  was  no  row  that 
light  or  next  day.  Mrs.  Twistleton  seemed  to 
accept  her  defeat  with  indifference  and  to  pass  from 
a  condition  of  thunderous  ill-humor  to  one  of  smiles. 
She  asked  no  questions  about  their  day  at  San  Gimi- 
gnano,  but  talked  of  what  she  had  done  herself  in  Siena. 
The  city  was  in  a  turmoil,  she  said,  and  to  escape  from 
it  she  had  driven  out  to  Belcaro  and  spent  the  afternoon 
there  with  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel. 

"You  ought  to  go  there,"  she  said  to  Victor.  "The 
view  from  the  castle  is  magnificent,  and  the  drive  isn't 
bad." 

Victor  was  surprised  and  relieved.  He  hated  scenes, 
and  though  he  thought  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  in  the  wrong 
she  had  made  him  uncomfortable.  Until  lately  he 
had  considered  her  an  astute  woman  and  one  who  had 
her  passions  in  control ;  but  this  morning,  and  again  the 
other  night,  he  had  had  glimpses  of  under-cur rents 
from  which  he  desired  to  turn  his  eyes.  The  position 
was  difficult,  no  doubt :  difficult  for  them  all.  She  should 
never  have  come  to  Siena:  and  he,  quite  unexpectedly, 
had  drifted  into  terms  of  friendship  with  Daphne.  His 
thoughts  were  full  of  Daphne  to-night  and  of  their  long 
day  together.  Now  she  sat  at  table  alone  and  her  child 
was  here  in  the  hotel  with  him.  If  he  could  escape 
after  dinner  he  would  stroll  round  and  see  how  she  was 
getting  on.  She  no  longer  received  him  glacially  as  she 
had  done  at  first.  In  fact,  once  or  twice,  lately  she  had 
seemed  glad  to  see  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  this  after- 

242 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  243 

noon  when  he  had  said  he  would  find  her  wherever  she 
went  the  color  had  come  into  her  face  like  a  flush  of 
light,  and  it  had  been  because  of  her  commotion  that 
she  had  held  out  her  hands  to  Peggy.  He  felt  sure 
of  that,  and  he  wanted  to  see  her  so  transfigured  again. 
Meanwhile  the  memory  remained  with  him  like  an  agree- 
able glow. 

While  he  dreamed,  the  children  were  both  wide  awake 
and  hammering  at  him  about  his  promise  to  take  them 
out  next  day,  so  that  he  was  obliged  before  long  to 
answer  them  and  ask  them  where  they  wanted  to  go : 
and  he  had  to  confess  that  he  had  not  ordered  the  car 
again.  He  reminded  them  that  there  would  be  trial  races 
on  the  Campo  every  day  till  Friday  and  that  they  must 
all  be  there  to  see  them,  and  that  therefore  they  could 
not  be  elsewhere. 

"But  you  promised,"  said  Mabel. 

"Yes,  you  did,"  said  Peggy.  "You  said  you  would 
take  us  both  out  to-morrow.  We  can  go  after  lunch  and 
come  back  in  time  for  the  evening  race." 

"I  thought  you  all  went  to  sleep  in  the  afternoon," 
said  Victor,  but  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Twistleton  and  asked 
her  whether  she  would  go  to  Lecceto  next  day  if  he  sent 
an  order  for  the  car.  He  proposed  that  they  should  start 
in  the  cool  of  the  morning  and  take  lunch  with  them, 
and  come  back  in  time  for  the  first  trial  race  at  night. 
He  had  been  told  that  the  one  next  morning  was  not 
important  and  that  the  stand  on  which  they  had  taken 
seats  would  hardly  be  ready.  Mrs.  Twistleton  said  that 
she  would  be  glad  to  be  out  of  the  noise  and  dust  of 
Siena  all  day,  and  that  on  some  other  afternoon  this 
week  they  would  drive  to  Belcaro  again  if  Victor  would 
go  with  them.  He  said  he  would  with  pleasure,  and 
got  up  from  dinner  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  wheels 
running  smoothly  again.  He  did  not  know  what  had 
oiled  them,  but  that  did  not  matter  since  they  were  oiled. 


244  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

The  only  person  who  now  seemed  discontented  was  Miss 
Busby.  She  said  that  the  week's  programme  was  heavy 
and  that  too  much  pleasure  was  worse  for  children  than 
too  little.  She  expected  both  Mabel  and  Peggy  would 
be  made  ill  by  fatigue  and  excitement,  and  she  was  quite 
sure  that  she  would  be  ill  herself.  She  did  not  make 
these  remarks  to  Mrs.  Twistleton,  but  in  a  grumbling 
undertone  to  Victor,  who  hardly  knew  what  to  do  with 
her  confidences.  As  soon  as  he  decently  could  he  escaped 
from  them:  but  he  did  not  escape  so  easily  from  Mrs. 
Twistleton.  It  had  become  a  habit  to  have  coffee  in 
the  lounge  with  her,  and  on  most  nights  a  stroll  through 
the  town  or  in  the  Lizza  after  coffee.  Sometimes  she 
did  not  want  a  stroll,  and  then  he  got  away  by  himself. 
But  to-night  she  proposed  that  they  should  see  what  was 
being  done  on  the  Campo  in  preparation  for  the 
Palio. 

"There  will  be  nothing  there,  but  some  half -erected 
wooden  stands,"  said  Victor,  who  was  on  edge  to  see 
Daphne  again,  if  only  for  a  moment.  Mrs.  Twistleton 
had  taken  great  pains  with  herself  and  looked  her  best 
to-night:  but  he  had  no  eyes  for  her.  No  doubt  she 
was  still  a  handsome  woman,  and  she  knew  how  to  move 
and  dress:  what  jewels  to  wear  and  just  what  kind  of 
quietly  splendid  wrap  to  put  in  his  hands  when  he  stood 
there  politely  ready  to  cover  her  shoulders  with  it.  But 
she  had  no  charm  for  him :  as  the  other  woman  had. 
Her  eyes  had  meanings  in  them,  but  not  meanings  he 
Had  tried  to  call  there  or  wished  to  read.  He  found 
himself  turning  his  own  away  and  more  than  once  ending 
some  moment  of  intimate  silence  by  everyday  talk  in 
which  there  was  safety.  He  could  not  believe  in  what 
his  eyes  saw  and  his  ears  heard:  and  yet  the  thing  was 
being  made  plainer  to  him  every  moment.  If  he  chose 
he  could  gather  and  keep.  The  fruit  was  his  for  the 
asking  and  one  many  men  would  envy  him.  But  he 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  245 

did  not  want  it :  and  he  would  have  to  say  so  in  deeds 
if  not  in  words.  He  hoped  it  would  be  enough  to  go 
away. 

As  he  had  said,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  on  the 
Campo  but  the  wooden  stands  put  up  twice  every  year 
for  the  Palio :  and  there  were  not  many  people  about  at 
this  hour.  However,  Mrs.  Twistleton  seemed  inclined 
to  linger  there,  and  though  Victor  was  on  thorns  the 
beauty  of  the  scene  called  to  him.  In  this  evening  light 
the  slender  Mangia  Tower  seemed  to  touch  the  cloudless 
sky  where  the  moon,  nearly  full,  was  slowly  climbing, 
her  bright  light  thrown  on  the  fountain  and  the  splen- 
did palaces  at  the  upper  side  of  the  Piazza,  leaving  dense 
masses  of  shade  under  the  Palazzo  Pubblico  at  its  lower 
end.  The  stands  that  ringed  the  racecourse  were  dwarfed 
by  the  huge  buildings :  and  the  great  shell-shaped  central 
space  that  would  hold  a  roaring  crowd  on  Friday  was 
empty  now ;  except  for  a  few  groups  of  children  playing 
round  the  fountain  and  their  mothers  chatting  and  sing- 
ing near  them. 

"We  might  find  a  seat,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton,  and 
Victor,  fuming  and  fretting,  had  to  follow  her  to  one 
of  the  stands.  There  they  sat  down  for  a  while  and 
found  nothing  much  to  say.  It  was  Mrs.  Twistleton 
this  time  who  broke  the  silence. 

"I'm  getting  tired  of  Miss  Busby  and  her  everlasting 
complaints,"  she  said. 

"So  am  I,"  said  Victor,  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  seemed  to  him  soaked  in  scent,  and  he  liked 
the  smell  of  tobacco  better.  She  was  so  close  to  him 
now  that  if  she  moved  slightly  she  touched  him,  and  in 
the  white  light  of  the  moon  he  thought  her  face  looked 
unnaturally  white  and  red,  as  if  it  owed  its  tints  to 
cosmetics.  No  doubt  she  did  make  up,  but  as  a  rule 
she  made  up  well.  To-night,  either  she  had  overdone 
it,  or  the  moon  was  unkind :  he  neither  knew  nor  cared 


246  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

which.  All  he  prayed  for  at  the  moment  was  a  chance 
to  get  away. 

"Well,  you  won't  be  troubled  with  her  much  longer 
if  you  really  mean  to  go  back  to  England,"  said  Mrs. 
Twistleton. 

"I  am  not  satisfied  with  her  as  a  governess  for  Peggy," 
said  Victor.  "She  is  silly  and  incompetent." 

"I  suppose  Mrs.  Coverdale  has  been  talking  to  you?" 

"Need  we  bring  her  in?" 

"We  shall  spend  the  winter  in  Rome  or  Florence," 
continued  Mrs.  Twistleton.  "I  shall  be  able  to  get  some- 
one better  there,  I  hope." 

"I  want  Peggy  to  go  to  school,"  said  Victor. 

"What?" 

"I  want  Peggy  to  go  to  a  good  school  in  England." 

"When?" 

"The  sooner  the  better." 

"Why?" 

"She  is  not  being  well  educated." 

He  had  not  meant  to  say  this  to-night.  He  had  not 
meant  to  announce  his  intentions  with  regard  to  Peggy 
in  this  hurried,  rather  brutal  way.  But  it  was  done  now 
and  could  not  be  undone.  There  would  be  a  storm,  no 
doubt,  and  he  must  weather  it.  He  wondered  why  it 
did  not  break  on  his  head  at  once:  but  Mrs.  Twistleton 
only  said  in  dulcet  tones: 

"Most  schools  are  closed  now  till  the  autumn." 

"I  know,"  said  Victor. 

"We  must  talk  it  over.  It  might  be  a  good  plan  to 
send  them  both  to  the  same  school,  when  autumn  comes. 
We  must  get  through  the  summer  first.  Can't  you  come 
to  Vallombrosa?  You  would  have  your  eye  on  Peggy 
then,  and  you  seem  anxious  about  her." 

"I'm  not  anxious  about  her  at  present,"  said  Victor. 
"I  was  last  autumn.  I  thought  she  would  slip  through 
our  fingers." 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  247 

"I  suppose  you  mean  to  leave  her  with  me  for  the 
summer.  Or  do  you  want  to  take  her  to  England  at 
once  ?" 

"It  might  be  better,"  said  Victor,  making  up  his  mind 
there  and  then  to  do  what  an  hour  ago  he  had  not  meant 
to  do.  In  coming  to  such  a  decision  he  was  not  thinking 
as  much  of  the  woman  beside  him,  or  even  of  Peggy, 
as  of  Peggy's  mother  and  what  she  would  look  like  when 
he  told  her.  He  felt  eager  to  tell  her  and  to  consult 
with  her  about  the  journey  and  the  school  to  be  chosen. 
As  for  the  intervening  holidays,  he  would  ask  his  sister 
to  have  the  child  for  once  with  her  own  children,  and 
if  that  could  not  be  arranged  he  would  send  Peggy  to 
the  seaside  with  someone  more  capable  than  Miss  Busby 
to  look  after  her. 

"I  suppose  I  offended  you  this  morning,"  said  the 
woman  beside  him,  and  he  thought  she  edged  a  little 
closer  to  him:  but  perhaps  it  was  his  fancy.  "I  confess 
I  lost  my  temper  for  the  moment,  but  you  have  not  made 
it  easy  for  me  here,  have  you?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Victor,  politely. 

"Until  we  came  here  we  got  on  so  well  together.  I 
wish  I  had  taken  your  advice  and  gone  to  Portofino. 
You  would  have  brought  Peggy  there  and  all  would  have 
been  well." 

"I  hope  that  all  is  well  now,"  said  Victor.  "If  I  do 
take  Peggy  back  with  me  it  can  only  be  a  relief  to  you. 
She  gives  a  good  deal  of  trouble." 

Mrs.  Twistleton  had  a  fan  in  her  hands,  one  she  had 
used  at  dinner  and  usually  carried  about  with  her  in 
Siena.  It  was  a  slender  one  made  of  tortoiseshell  and 
lace,  and  as  the  night  was  breathless  she  had  opened  it 
several  times  and  fanned  herself.  But  now  in  the  white 
light  of  the  moon  Victor  saw  that  it  was  shut  and  that 
both  her  hands  were  closed  on  it.  He  was  sure  as  he 
looked  at  her  that  she  did  not  know  what  she  was  doing. 


248  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

He  had  twice  before  seen  that  silent,  blinding  rage  on 
her  face;  once  when  Dingo  killed  her  cat  and  again  when 
she  heard  that  Peggy  was  to  have  most  of  her  father's 
money;  but  on  those  occasiones  she  had  controlled  her- 
self. He  hoped  she  would  now.  She  would  break  the 
fan  in  a  moment  if  she  did  not  release  her  hold  on  it. 
He  knew  by  watching  her  hands  how  furious  she  was. 
There  was  no  need  to  watch  her  face.  It  was  a  hot, 
uncomfortable  moment,  and  he  wished  he  had  not 
brought  it  on  himself.  There!  the  fan  snapped  in  two, 
and  she  seemed  hardly  to  know  what  she  had  done,  but 
turned  to  him  and  spoke. 

"Do  you  realize  that  it  is  a  slur  on  me  if  you  take 
Peggy  away  suddenly  like  that?"  she  asked. 

"It  may  be  a  slur  on  Miss  Busby,  but  I  think  she 
deserves  it,"  said  Victor.  "Besides,  if  you  like  we  can 
say  that  the  climate  didn't  suit  Peggy  and  that  you  sent 
her  home.  Things  can  usually  be  arranged  pleasantly 
if  people  are  sensible." 

"You  have  quite  made  up  your  mind  then  ...  to 
put  this  .  .  .  this  insult  on  me  ?  And  you  are  quite  sure, 
I  suppose,  that  you  are  not  exceeding  your  powers?" 

"I've  not  made  up  my  mind  about  anything  except 
that  Peggy  must  have  a  better  education  than  you  are 
giving  her  at  present,"  said  Victor  with  some  impatience. 
"I  thought  you  would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  her." 

"Why  should  you  think  so?" 

"Well,  you  don't  exactly  hit  it  off  together,  do  you?" 

Mrs.  Twistleton  sighed  and  looked  at  her  broken  fan. 

"I  wish  you  would  give  up  this  idea,"  she  said. 

"What  idea?" 

"This  idea  of  taking  Peggy  back  to  England  in  such 
a  hurry.  Come  to  Vallombrosa  with  us  on  Saturday. 
We  are  going  by  car  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  room 
for  you.  I  believe  it  is  a  beautiful  place.  We  can  talk 
things  over  quietly  there,  and  if  you  really  wish  it  I 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  249 

will  dismiss  Miss  Busby  and  send  to  England  for  a 
first-rate  finishing  governess.  My  maid  would  have  to 
look  after  their  clothes,  or  we  might  engage  one  for  the 
two  children." 

"I'll  think  it  over  about  Peggy:  but  I'm  going  back 
to  England,"  said  Victor. 

It  was  rejection.  He  knew  it  and  so  did  she.  The 
momentary  silence  that  followed  was  as  horrible  as  the 
moment  before  a  catastrophe  thajt  you  see  approaching 
and  cannot  hinder.  Victor  felt  as  miserable  as  the 
bravest  of  men  feels  on  such  painful  occasions.  There 
was  not  a' rag  of  bravery  in  him.  He  would  gladly  have 
crawled  under  the  seat  or  run  away  in  order  to  remove 
himself  from  the  woman  he  did  not  want  and  who 
perversely  seemed  to  want  him.  He  could  not  think 
why.  He  was  thankful  when  she  rose  from  her  seat, 
letting  the  broken  fan  drop  unheeded  to  the  ground  as 
she  did  SOL  He  dived  for  the  two  halves  of  it  and 
presented  them  to  her ;  but  she  did  not  take  them. 

"You  can  throw  it  away,"  she  said,  and  walked  back 
to  the  hotel  without  speaking  again. 

When  he  had  seen  her  there  he  sped  like  the  wind  to 
Daphne's  flat  for  he  feared  that  he  was  over-late  for  a 
call.  No  light  showed  behind  the  heavy  old  doors,  mar- 
velously  carved  and  having  elaborate  knockers  wrought 
in  iron  seven  hundred'years  ago ;  but  he  rang,  and  Daphne 
herself  opened  to  him. 

"You !"  she  said,  taking  alarm  at  once.  "Is  anything 
wrong?  Peggy.  .  .  ." 

"Peggy  went  to  bed  hours  ago,  I  hope,"  he  said,  going 
into  the  lighted  hall.  "I  know  I'm  late.  .  .  ." 

"It  is  past  eleven." 

"Can't  I  come  in  for  five  minutes?" 

Daphne  led  the  way  to  her  sitting-room  and  turned  on 
the  light. 

"I  was  just  going  to  bed,"  she  said. 


250  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,"  said  he,  and  looked  round  the 
room  and  through  the  window  at  the  garden.  He  saw 
the  oleander  with  the  moonlight  on  it  and  the  little  ter- 
race with  its  wicker  chairs. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  all  the  evening?"  he  asked. 
He  felt  restless  and  harassed;  and  to  come  here  even 
for  a  moment  was  to  come  to  a  happy  haven.  He  sat 
down  in  the  chair  he  usually  chose  in  this  room  and 
looked  up  at  Daphne's  face. 

"Andrea  came  and  we  had  music,"  she  said. 

"I  have  never  heard  you  call  him  Andrea  before." 

"I  do,  lately.    He  has  been  a  very  good  friend  to  me." 

"I  should  like  to  be  your  friend,"  said  Victor. 

He  looked  at  her  eagerly  and  saw  the  wistful  smile 
that  sometimes  shadowed  the  sweetness  of  her  eyes  and 
made  a  man  want  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  tell  her 
he  would  get  her  the  moon  if  she  wanted  it. 

"You  would  like  to  be  my  friend  but  you  are  obliged 
to  be  my  enemy,"  she  said.  "There  is  only  one  thing 
in  the  world  that  I  want,  and  it  is  you  who  will  not  or 
cannot  let  me  have  it." 

"Is  there  only  one  thing  in  the  world  that  you  want?" 
said  Victor,  with  a  chilly  feeling  about  his  heart  that 
was  new  to  him. 

"You  know  it,"  she  said,  and  sighed ;  and  then  she 
unmistakably  looked  at  the  clock.  So  Victor  got  up  to 
go  and  said  nothing  that  night  of  his  new  plan  for  Peggy. 
It  had  not  matured  yet,  and  now  that  he  was  with  Daphne 
he  did  not  feel  as  sure  as  he  had  done  an  hour  ago 
of  her  pleasure  in  it.  She  might  approve,  but  he  could 
hardly  expect  her  to  feel  overjoyed.  What  a  tangle 
affairs  were  in,  and  how  they  seemed  to  revolve  round 
the  small,  unconscious  person  of  Peggy,  who  was  ten ! 

"^VVhat  is  that  in  your  hand?"  said  Daphne  as  he  stood 
up,  and  he  became  aware  that  he  still  carried  the  broken 
fan. 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  251 

"It's  a  fan,"  he  said,  and  showed  her  the  pieces.  "Mrs. 
Twistleton  broke  it." 

He  could  tell  by  the  way  Daphne  stood  with  her  arms 
straight  down  by  her  sides  that  nothing  would  have  in- 
duced her  to  touch  it. 

"Peggy  said  there  would  be  a  row  when  you  got  back," 
she  ventured.  "I  hope  Peggy.  .  .  ." 

"It  was  I  who  faced  the  music  .  .  .  not  Peggy,"  said 
Victor. 

"Oh!     I'm  glad  of  that." 

"You  don't  mind  things  being  uncomfortable  for  me?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"Thank  you." 

"You're  not  a  fan." 

They  had  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  flat  again,  and 
Daphne  had  opened  it  because  Victor  seemed  to  be  in 
no  hurry  to  do  so. 

"Or  a  child,"  she  added.     "Good-night." 


CHAPTER   XXX 

EVERY  evening  that  week  Victor,  with  Miss  Busby 
and  the  children,  went  to  see  the  trial  races  on  the 
Campo,  for  the  seats  they  had  taken  for  the  day 
of  the  Palio  itself  were  theirs  for  the  three  days  before 
when  the  horses  and  jockeys  running  had  rehearsals 
night  and  morning  on  the  sanded  course.  Mrs.  Twistle- 
ton  went  on  Tuesday  evening  when  they  came  back 
from  Lecceto,  but  she  did  not  go  next  day.  She  was 
in  one  of  her  brooding  humors,  unapproachable  and 
silent.  The  long  expedition  to  Lecceto  had  been  oppres- 
sive in  consequence  for  Miss  Busby,  and  the  children 
had  hardly  dared  to  speak,  and  when  they  were  out  of 
the  car  kept  to  themselves  as  much  as  possible.  Victor 
thought  that  he  had  never  known  a  week  pass  so  slowly 
in  his  life;  but  as  the  Palio  would  take  place  on  Friday 
and  he  had  got  to  Tuesday  night  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  to  a  sudden  stampede.  Besides,  he  wanted  to 
see  Daphne  again  and  possibly  stay  on  in  Siena  for  a 
few  days  after  Mrs.  Twistleton  left  for  Vallombrosa. 
That  idea  grew  rosy  in  his  thoughts  as  he  envisaged  it: 
more  and  more  rosy,  BO  that  his  fancy  dwelt  on  the 
hours  he  would  pass  in  Daphne's  company  with  Peggy 
between  them,  drawing  them  together.  He  had  not  said 
a  word  to  Peggy  yet  of  his  new  plan  for  her  and  he  had 
not  spoken  of  it  again  to  Mrs.  Twistleton. 

The  seats  taken  for  the  Palio  were  on  a  wooden  stand 
erected  in  front  of  a  crockery-shop  on  the  ground  floor, 
and  were  close  to  the  umpires'  balcony  and  to  the  point 
at  which  the  races  began  and  ended.  Each  seat  had  a 
little  chair  of  its  own,  but  they  were  not  roomy,  and 

252 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  253 

Miss  Busby  said  that  the  want  of  space  gave  her  cramp. 
She  came  on  Tuesday  and  on  Wednesday  evening  be- 
cause she  had  to  accompany  the  children,  but  although 
she  brought  her  crochet  with  her  and  kept  her  eyes  on 
it  she  did  not  enjoy  herself.  "There  is  such  a  crowd," 
she  said  plaintively,  "and  in  these  days  crowds  alarm 
me.  They  might  begin  throwing  bombs  at  us  because 
we  are  well  dressed.  One  never  knows.  Besides,  the 
noise  makes  my  head  ache.  I  never  heard  such  a  noise. 
I  cannot  think  why  they  are  so  excited.  Peggy,  if  you 
can't  sit  still  you  had  better  go  home.  You  jogged  my 
elbow  then  and  made  me  split  my  wool.  Mabel,  you 
are  not  going  to  buy  those  nasty  pumpkin-seeds,  are  you  ? 
No,  thank  you.  I  should  not  care  to  be  seen  eating 
them  in  public  like  a  monkey  at  the  Zoological  Gardens. 
The  Italians  seem  to  be  easily  pleased,  poor  things!  A 
race  round  a  square  on  cart-horses  and  pumpkin-seeds 
for  their  refreshment :  and  penny  ices.  No,  Mabel  and 
Peggy,  you  cannot  stand  at  that  cart  and  lick  penny 
ices  out  of  wafer  cups.  I'm  sure  that  Mrs.  Twistleton 
would  not  approve  of  it.  Will  the  horses  be  much  longer, 
Mr.  Gerard?  The  children  are  getting  so  fidgety." 

"We  are  not  fidgety,"  said  Peggy.  "We  are  enjoy- 
ing ourselves,  but  I  should  like  to  walk  right  round  the 
course  in  the  crowd,  and  buy  all  the  funny  things  that 
people  are  selling.  Can  I  go,  Mr.  Gerard?" 

"I'll  come  too,"  said  Mabel. 

"Sit  still,"  said  Victor.  "They  are  clearing  the  course. 
Watch  them.  When  it  is  clear  the  horses  will  come, 
and  directly  the  race  is  over  we  must  go  home." 

It  seemed  to  the  children  that  the  course  never  could 
be  clear.  It  was  so  densely  packed  with  people.  But 
they  saw  it  slowly  and  inexorably  emptied  by  the  soldiers 
and  carabinieri,  who  came  on  step  by  step,  sweeping 
everyone  before  them.  Most  people  squeezed  into  the 
center,  and  some  went  to  their  seats  on  the  stands:  and 


254  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  horses  and  their  jockeys 
issued  from  the  Palazzo  Pubblico  and  took  their  places 
behind  the  rope  stretched  across 'the  course  just  in  front 
of  Peggy's  eyes.  When  the  rope  was  let  down  they  were 
off  like  the  wind.  Peggy  followed  them  intently.  She 
knew  that  there  were  seventeen  wards  or  parishes  in 
Siena,  each  having  its  own  emblem  and  its  own  tradi- 
tional friendships  and  hostilities.  Uncle  Andrea  had 
explained  this  to  her  and  had  told  her  that  he  lived  in 
the  parish  of  the  Oca,  or  Goose,  where  St.  Catherine 
had  lived  more  than  six  hundred  years  ago,  and  that 
therefore  he  wanted  the  Oca  to  win;  so  when  other 
people  near  Peggy  shouted  for  the  Onda,  which  is 
"wave,"  or  for  the  Istrice,  which  is  "porcupine,"  she 
got  on  her  feet  and  shouted  "Oca!"  so  shrilly  that  every- 
one near  smiled  at  her,  and  some  said  she  was  carina: 
for  the  Italian  does  not  live  who  will  not  smile  at  a 
child  and  be  kind  to  it.  But  Miss  Busby  put  away 
her  crochet  and  said  that  Peggy  had  made  an  exhibition 
of  herself,  and  that  if  she  could  not  behave  she  had 
better  stay  at  home  to-morrow. 

"Everyone  else  shouts,"  argued  Peggy.  But  Miss 
Busby  said  that  she  did  not,  and  that  it  was  silly  to  be 
excited  by  a  foreign  event  that  could  not  possibly  concern 
you,  and  that  she  did  not  think  Mrs.  Twistleton  would 
wish  Peggy  to  talk  of  that  queer-looking  musician  as 
her  uncle.  The  governess  and  the  children  wrangled 
all  the  way  home  as  they  struggled  through  the  crowds 
in  the  Via  Cavour,  for  Victor,  who  usually  stopped 
wrangling,  had  disappeared.  He  had  had  a  long  day 
of  it,  and  the  day  was  not  over  yet.  He  wished  Daphne 
would  ask  him  to  dine  with  her  that  evening  and  give 
him  peace:  but  when  he  called  there  he  found  that  she 
was  just  going  out.  A  carriage  was  waiting  for  her 
below,  and  Giuditta  told  him  that  the  Signora  was  in- 
vited to  a  villa  outside  the  city  beyond  the  Camellia 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  255 

Gate,  and  that  to-morrow  she  had  friends  to  dinner  her- 
self, and  that  on  Thursday  she  would  dine  out  again. 
It  was  the  "Palio,"  said  Giuditta.  During  the  week  of 
the  Palio  many  strangers  came  to  the  city  and  there  was 
much  movement  and  gayety.  Next  week  all  would  be 
as  usual  again.  She  spoke  in  the  clear,  slow  Italian 
she  kept  for  English  people  who  did  not  know  much,  and 
she  used  short  simple  phrases  that  even  Victor  could 
more  or  less  understand.  Besides,  her  hands  told  him 
more  than  her  lips.  Out  to-night,  out  on  Thursday,  and 
to-morrow.  Molti  invitati.  The  Palio.  Always  the 
Palio.  Capita! 

Victor  did  not  feel  ruffled.  It  was  natural  that  Daphne 
should  have  her  own  friends  and  engagements:  most 
natural,  considering  who  and  what  she  was.  All  men 
must  adore  her,  but  hitherto  he  had  seen  her  sequestered 
from  the  world  and  had  found  her  in  her  home  when 
he  went  there.  The  three  evenings  in  front  of  him 
stretched  long  and  empty  since  they  were  to  be  without 
her:  and  it  chilled  him  unreasonably  to  find  that  she 
was  giving  a  dinner  to  which  she  had  not  asked  him. 
Perhaps  her  guests  were  to  be  Italians ;  and  perhaps 
there  would  be  Italian  men  there  of  a  different  type 
from  the  poor,  elderly,  deformed  musician.  Italians 
frequently  married  English  and  American  women,  but 
he  did  not  know  how  such  marriages  turned  out.  Victor 
was  not  in  favor  of  them.  He  was  not  in  favor  of 
expatriation  at  all.  But  he  did  not  count  it  expatriation 
to  be  in  a  British  colony  or  a  British  possession.  Women, 
and  especially  young,  lovely,  lonely  women,  should  live 
amongst  their  own  people  and  under  the  protection  of 
their  own  men.  His  ideas  were  behind  the  times,  he 
supposed:  these  upside-down  times,  when  women  had 
the  vote  and  were  going  to  do  no  one  knew  what 
with  it. 

But  the  elemental  differences  between  men  and  women 


256  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

were  stronger  than  fashions  and  politics,  and  would 
remain. 

Daphne  was  a  woman  with  every  breath  of  her  beau- 
tiful body  and  soul:  a  woman  to  be  enshrined  and  wor- 
shiped, helped  and  loved.  She  would  give  more  than 
she  would  ever  receive  because  she  was  her  exquisite 
self ;  but  yet  she  needed  a  man  to  perform  such  services 
for  her  as  a  man  can  offer  the  woman  he  loves  and  makes 
his  wife.  The  wonder  was  that  she  had  not  married 
again  long  since.  In  Rome,  at  any  rate,  she  must  have 
had  chances. 

The  heat  had  been  intense  all  day,  and  after  dinner 
Victor  got  away  by  himself  for  a  stroll  in  the  Lizza. 
He  went  to  his  usual  point  of  view  and  looked  at  Siena 
with  her  evening  lights  glowing  like  stars  in  the  streets 
and  windows.  But  to-night  he  did  not  hear  Daphne's 
voice  there.  Strangers  were  leaning  over  the  low  wall 
to  look  at  the  site  of  some  new  houses  about  to  be  built 
for  the  city,  and  amongst  them  Victor  saw  the  small 
deformed  figure  of  the  violinist,  Daphne's  friend.  He 
was  not  the  rose,  but  perhaps  he  had  been  near  the  rose 
that  day  and  could  give  him  the  latest  news  of  her. 
Victor  went  up  to  Sarzoni  and  bid  him  good-evening. 

The  Italian  was  polite,  but  not  cordial.  He  had  only 
one  wish  with  regard  to  Victor,  and  it  was  that  the 
Englishman  should  leave  Siena  never  to  return.  His 
coming  had  destroyed  Andrea's  plans  completely,  and 
had  made  his  quest  vain.  To  be  sure,  Daphne  had  had 
her  child  for  a  few  weeks,  but  that  only  made  the 
separation  ordered  and  imposed  by  this  man  worse  for 
her  to  bear.  He  must  be  a  man  without  either  heart 
or  understanding,  otherwise  the  sight  of  Daphne's  sor- 
row would  have  stirred  him  to  compassion  and  he  would 
have  arranged  somehow  to  leave  the  child  with  her.  But 
he  had  done  nothing  of  the  kind.  Never  would  Andrea 
forget  the  night  when  he  had  found  Daphne  bereft  and 


LAW   AND   OUTUAW  257 

disconsolate.  As  well  as  she  could  she  had  told  him 
what  had  passed  on  both  occasions  when  the  Englishman 
had  been  in  the  house:  first  to  announce  his  intentions 
and  then  to  carry  Peggy  away  with  him:  and  Andrea 
got  an  impression  of  a  man  as  hard  as  stone,  without 
sympathy  and  rigid  in  his  obedience  to  the  law.  With 
the  law  behind  him  he  was  going  to  exact  obedience 
from  Daphne  even  if  it  broke  her. 

Victor,  who  did  not  think  much  about  the  Italian's 
point  of  view,  spoke  to  him  pleasantly  because  he  was 
Daphne's  friend:  but  found  it  difficult  to  bring  in  her 
name.  It  was  easier  to  talk  of  the  Palio  and  the  sights 
of  Siena  and  to  ask  Andrea  what  he  thought  of  the 
weather. 

"I  think  that  to-night  or  to-morrow  there  will  be  a 
storm,"  said  Andrea,  and  Victor  said  he  thought  so  too, 
since  the  air  was  oppressive  and  the  clouds  over  the  hills 
were  black  and  threatening. 

"To-morrow  we  are  all  going  to  Belcaro,"  he  added. 
"I  have  not  seen  it  yet." 

"When  do  you  leave  Siena?"  asked  Andrea. 

"Soon  after  the  Palio,"  said  Victor.  "We  shall  all 
clear  out  then,  but  in  different  directions." 

Andrea  only  half  understood  the  second  part  of 
Victor's  answer,  but  the  first  part  afforded  him  satisfac- 
tion. He  lifted  his  hat  and  bid  him  good-evening. 

"A  rividerla,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  we  shall  meet  again 
to-morrow  at  Belcaro.  I  too  am  going  there  in  the  after- 
noon." 

"Is  Mrs.  Coverdale  going?"  said  Victor  impulsively. 

"No,"  said  the  Italian.  "I  am  taking  friends  there 
from  Bologna  who  do  not  know  it.  Mrs.  Coverdale 
knows  it  well." 

So  next  day,  when  the  party  from  the  Royal  in  two 
carriages  passed  one  in  which  Victor  saw  Sarzoni  and 
his  friends,  he  was  not  disappointed  to  find  strangers 


258  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

with  the  Italian.  He  himself  was  with  Mrs.  Twistleton 
and  Mabel,  while  Miss  Busby  and  Peggy  in  another 
carriage  to  the  rear  got  all  their  dust  and  wished  it 
would  rain.  Victor  had  not  wanted  to  carry  out  the 
expedition,  for  the  skies  were  ominous  and  thunder  was 
growling  in  the  distance  when  they  started ;  but  the 
children  implored  him  to  go,  the  carriages  were  ordered, 
and  the  drivers  assured  him  in  fluent  Tuscan  that  it 
would  not  rain  till  night.  So  they  drove  out  of  the  city 
by  the  Porta  S.  Marco,  coming  in  time  to  English-look- 
ing lanes  and  English  wild  flowers  that  the  children 
would  have  liked  to  gather.  But  in  one  carriage  Victor 
said  that  they  had  better  get  under  cover  before  the 
storm  broke;  and  in  the  other  Miss  Busby  told  Peggy 
that  she  did  not  like  the  look  of  their  driver,  who  kept 
turning  round  and  pointing  at  the  landscape  with  his 
whip  while  he  jabbered  like  a  monkey  in  a  language 
she  could  not  understand.  Nothing  would  induce  her 
to  stay  behind  with  him  in  one  of  these  lonely  lanes  and 
moreover,  if  she  wanted  to  stop  she  would  not  know  what 
to  say  to  him.  The  only  Italian  word  that  came  to  her 
lips  when  flustered  was  avanti,  and  that  seemed  to  have 
the  effect  of  driving  him  on.  If  he  was  a  robber.  .  .  . 

"He  is  no  more  a  robber  than  you  are,"  said  Peggy 
contemptuously.  "He  is  old  Settinio,  and  he  has  a  wife 
and  four  children,  and  his  bambino  has  been  ill.  He 
knows  me  quite  well.  Haven't  you  seen  him  take  off 
his  hat  to  me?  He  used  to  take  Mummy  and  me  for 
drives,  and  Mummy  sent  his  bambino  things  to  eat.  And 
when  you  want  to  say  'stop'  in  Italian  you  say  'Ferma! 
Ferma!' " 

The  carriage  stopped  instantly,  for  Peggy  had  spoken 
in  a  clear,  shrill  voice ;  and  before  Miss  Busby  could 
prevent  it  she  was  at  the  hedge  getting  the  clematis 
and  honeysuckle  that  she  wanted.  In  consequence  of 
this  reprehensible  behavior  the  second  carriage  arrived 


LAW    AND    OUTLAW  259 

at  Belcaro  nearly  ten  minutes  after  the  first  and  at  the 
same  time  as  Andrea  and  his  friends.  It  was  upsetting 
for  Miss  Busby,  because  she  did  not  know  Andrea  and 
thought  him  a  suspicious-looking  object  for  Peggy  to 
know.  She  stood  aside  while  the  child  ran  up  to  him 
and  scolded  her  when  she  returned ;  but  her  thoughts 
were  diverted  from  Peggy's  delinquencies  by  a  clap  of 
thunder  that  took  all  her  nerve  away.  She  was  terrified 
by  a  storm  in  England,  but  what  was  a  storm  in  England 
compared  with  one  in  this  country,  where  the  climate 
was  what  she  could  only  call  exaggerated  ?  Probably  the 
lightning  would  soon  be  exaggerated  too,  and  strike  them 
where  they  stood.  Her  one  idea  was  to  find  shelter, 
and  calling  to  Peggy  to  follow  her  she  fled  across  a 
courtyard  to  an  open  door  and  hid,  trembling,  in  a  loggia 
decorated  with  frescoes,  for  the  next  half  hour.  Even 
when  the  Italian  and  his  friends  came  in  to  look  at 
the  frescoes  she  did  not  move ;  for  the  storm  came  on 
in  earnest  now  and  she  could  hear  the  pelting  rain.  Peggy 
had  not  followed  her,  but  doubtless  she  had  found  some 
shelter.  She  seemed  to  have  friends  at  every  corner,  and 
she  had  learned  more  Italian  in  a  month  than  she  had 
learned  French  at  home  in  years.  But  she  was  a  trouble- 
some child,  always  doing  what  she  should  not  do  and 
arriving  when  she  should  not  arrive.  If  she  found  the 
others,  and  was  by  herself,  Miss  Busby  would  be  blamed, 
which  would  not  be  fair.  The  storm  was  over  at  last 
and  had  apparently  not  struck  the  castle  or  anyone  in 
it,  although  it  had  certainly  been  appalling.  Miss  Busby 
thought  she  might  venture  across  the  courtyard  now  and 
try  to  rejoin  the  party.  It  was  only  natural  that  the 
sudden  downpour  should  have  scattered  them  for  the 
moment,  and  if  anything  was  said  to  her  she  would 
try  to  carry  it  off  in  a  jocular  way.  What  she  did  not 
expect  was  to  run  into  Mr.  Gerard  just  outside  the  door 
and  to  see  at  a  glance  that  he  was  not  pleased. 


26o  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"Where  is  Peggy?"  he  said. 

"Hasn't  she  been  with  you?"  said  Miss  Busby  in  a 
tone  of  surprise. 

"We  have  not  seen  her.    Where  did  you  see  her  last  ?" 

"We  arrived  together,  of  course,  in  the  carriage.  We 
were  a  little  late  because,  although  I  told  Peggy  we 
could  not  stop,  she  spoke  to  the  driver  in  Italian  and  told 
him  to  stop ;  and  then  she  got  out  and  gathered  flowers. 
We  arrived  at  the  same  time  as  that  carriage  full  of 
Italians  and  she  spoke  to  the  deformed  one.  Perhaps 
you  noticed  him." 

"Did  you  leave  her  with  them?" 

"No,  I  did  not.  I  scolded  her  for  taking  any  notice  of 
them." 

"She  was  quite  right  to  take  notice  of  Signer  Sarzoni. 
He  is  her  mother's  friend  and  brought  her  to  Italy." 

"Oh,  is  he  the  person  who  kidnapped  her?  How 
interesting!  I  wish  I  had  known.  I  had  heard  him 
described,  but  it  never  occurred  to  me  somehow.  .  .  ." 

"What  became  of  Peggy  after  that?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  tremendous  flash  of  lightning  and 
the  thunder  right  on  top  of  it,  so  I  came  here  for  shelter 
and  told  Peggy  to  follow  me.  I'm  sure  she  must  have 
heard  me." 

"But  she  did  not  follow." 

Miss  Busby's  vacant,  timorous  glance  wandered  from 
the  loggia  to  the  courtyard  and  fixed  itself  anywhere 
except  on  Victor's  face,  which  was  uncomfortably 
serious. 

"I  don't  see  her,"  she  said. 

Victor  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

VICTOR  did  not  feel  alarmed  about  Peggy.  No 
doubt  she  had  stayed  behind  with  Sarzoni  and  his 
friends,  and  if  she  was  left  to  herself  she  might 
take  it  into  her  head  to  return  to  Siena  with  them. 
So  it  would  save  trouble  if  he  found  her  now  and  kept 
her  with  him.  What  a  nincompoop  Miss  Busby  was, 
and  why  had  a  capable  woman  like  Mrs.  Twistleton 
endured  her  all  these  years?  No  doubt  she  was  putty 
in  the  hands  of  her  employer.  The  Italian  party  had 
not  left  yet.  He  could  hear  their  high,  strident  voices 
in  the  little  enclosed  garden  on  his  left  cackling  to  each 
other  like  cockatoos.  So  he  went  in  there  himself  and 
looked  round  it.  The  formal  foreign  charm  of  the  place 
interested  him,  but  he  did  not  linger  there  because  he 
saw  that  neither  Andrea  nor  Peggy  was  with  the  Italians. 
After  the  rain  everything  was  dripping  wet,  and  the 
air,  still  heavy  and  warm,  was  scented  here  with  lemon 
blossom.  The  lemons  grew  in  great  tubs  set  on  either 
side  of  the  bricked  paths  and  bearing  fruit  and  flower 
at  the  same  time.  The  oleanders  were  in  flower  here  too, 
and  so  were  some  of  the  yuccas  and  dracaenas.  There 
was  no  attempt  at  a  lawn,  but  only  beds  with  fruit  trees 
and  flowers  and  the  narrow  paths  in  between.  Victor 
came  away  when  he  had  looked  in  every  corner  of  the 
little  place  for  Peggy,  and  as  he  crossed  the  courtyard 
he  met  Mabel. 

"Mother  has  sent  me  to  find  Miss  Busby  and  Peggy," 
she  said.    "Have  you  seen  them?" 

261 


262  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

"Miss  Busby  was  in  there  a  moment  ago,"  said  Victor, 
pointing  out  the  loggia.  "She  took  shelter  from  the 
storm." 

"Where  is  Peggy?" 

"I'm  looking  for  her.  If  you  see  her,  tell  her  she 
is  to  come  to  me  at  once." 

"Where  will  you  be?" 

"I'm  going  up  to  the  ramparts." 

"But  what  can  have  become  of  Peggy?  Perhaps  she 
has  run  away  again." 

Victor  said  it  was  quite  likely,  and  went  his  way.  He 
got  to  the  top  of  the  winding  stone  staircase  that  leads 
to  the  ramparts  at  Belcaro  and  there  looked  about  him. 
From  where  he  stood  he  could  see  over  the  low,  broad 
wall  into  the  little  garden  far  below  where  the  Italians 
were  still  amusing  themselves,  and  where  Miss  Busby 
and  Mabel  were  now  sauntering  vacantly,  both  mani- 
festly bored.  He  turned  from  that  spectacle  to  the  wall 
on  his  other  hand,  and  saw  spread  before  him  one  of 
the  fairest  views  in  Tuscany:  a  land  of  undulating  pas- 
tures and  forest  spreading  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
towards  the  blue  hills  on  the  horizon.  The  ilex  wood 
surrounding  the  castle  lay  giddy  depths  beneath  him, 
and  as  he  leaned  against  the  wall  he  saw  that  he  was 
high  above  the  tallest  trees.  To  hurl  an  enemy  from 
here  would  be  to  send  him  surely  and  quickly  to  a  hor- 
rible death,  and  must  have  been  done  over  and  over 
again  when  men  fought  in  such  places  as  this,  face  to 
face  and  hand  to  hand.  Not  far  from  where  Victor 
loitered  there  was  a  small  shelter  or  summer-house,  and 
when  he  had  stood  for  some  time  looking  at  the  view 
he  went  on  to  it,  pursuing  his  search  for  Peggy.  She 
was  not  inside,  but  Andrea  Sarzoni  sat  there  by  himself, 
looking  as  mopy  and  miserable,  thought  Victor,  as  a 
sentinel  bird  in  the  London  Zoo.  He  wondered  why 
he  had  separated  from  his  friends:  and  as  he  wanted 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  263 

to  ask  him  about  Peggy  he  went  up  to  him  and  sat 
down. 

"I  have  not  see  her  since  we  arrived  at  the  same 
moment,"  said  Andrea.  "Is  she  not  with  the  English- 
woman?— the  one  who  has  an  open  mouth  and  foolish 
eyes,  begging  your  pardon." 

"She  is  not,"  said  Victor.  "I  hoped  she  was  with 
you." 

Andrea  shook  his  head  and  explained  in  his  ingenuous 
Italian  way  and  with  much  physiological  detail  that  the 
thunder  had  upset  him  internally,  that  he  had  been  sud- 
denly sick  and  afflicted,  and  that  he  was  reposing  himself 
here  until  it  should  be  time  to  return  home. 

"What  can  have  become  of  the  child?''  said  Victor. 
"Surely  she  can't  have  run  back  to  Siena  ...  to  her 
mother  ...  all  that  way." 

"It  is  more  likely  that  the  storm  frightened  her  and 
that  she  is  still  hiding  from  it,"  said  Andrea.  "I  hope 
it  is  so.  If  she  tried  to  return  to  Siena  by  herself  she 
might  lose  her  way,  the  poor  little  one,  and  get  wet 
through  and  tired.  It  is  a  misfortune  that  she  may  not 
be  with  her  own  mother  who  knows  how  to  cherish  her 
and  make  her  happy.  Behold  that  woman  whom  she 
fears  and  hates.  I  go  away." 

Andrea  rose  uncertainly  to  his  feet,  but  sank  back 
again  with  a  sigh  as  if  the  effort  was  still  beyond  his 
strength,  and  Victor  observed  that  the  poor  little  man 
did  look  ill  and  pale.  From  where  they  sat  they  could 
both  see  a  few  yards  of  the  ramparts  through  a  small 
window  in  the  side  of  the  summer-house:  but  it  was 
unlikely  that  anyone  could  see  them.  Mrs.  Twistleton 
was  walking  slowly  their  way,  but  stopped  before  she 
reached  them,  leaning  with  her  back  against  the  outer 
wall,  the  one  high  above  the  ilex  wood.  She  did  not 
seem  to  be  looking  at  the  view,  or  indeed  at  any  of  her 
surroundings.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  pavement 


264  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

at  her  feet  and  the  expression  of  her  face  was  evil : 
so  evil  that  Victor,  looking  at  it,  was  taken  by  surprise. 
She  was  scowling,  quiet  and  dangerous.  She  was  think- 
ing and  making  up  her  mind.  He  hoped  she  would  not 
come  past  the  summer-house  and  guess  that  he  had  seen 
her,  for  then  she  would  know  that  he  had  seen  her 
naked  soul.  Instinctively  both  men  were  silent:  silent 
and  watching.  Why  did  she  wait  there,  and  why  did 
she  press  closer  and  closer  to  the  wall,  her  tall,  massive 
figure  rising  above  it  like  a  tower,  rigid  and  immovable? 
She  held  an  open  sunshade  in  her  hands  and  with  it 
hid  the  bit  of  wall  beyond  her  from  the  men.  At  least, 
she  hid  it  for  a  time,  and  when  she  closed  it  suddenly 
they  both  sprang  to  their  feet.  For  close  to  her  in  full 
view  of  them  came  Peggy  along  the  top  of  the  wall 
balancing  herself  carefully  and,  as  the  men  could  see, 
suddenly  uncertain  and  afraid.  She  might  jump  down 
into  safety,  she  might  possibly  turn  and  go  back,  or  she 
might  pass  behind  her  step-mother  and  reach  the  sum- 
merhouse.  The  men  held  their  breath  as  they  watched 
her  and  did  not  speak.  A  sound  she  had  not  expected, 
a  movement  to  alarm  her,  and  she  must  be  over  on  the 
wrong  side.  She  was  close  now.  One  hesitating  step 
forward  had  taken  her  so  close  to  Mrs.  Twistleton  that 
it  was  too  late  to  jump  clear  of  her.  Why  didn't  the 
woman  move  or  speak?  Was  she,  too,  afraid  to  startle 
the  child  ? 

The  sound  that  Andrea  made  in  his  throat  was  in- 
articulate, like  the  low  deadly  growl  of  a  beast  tor- 
mented and  about  to  spring:  and  even  before  Victor 
he  was  out  of  the  summer-house  and  upon  the  woman. 
But  both  men  had  seen :  seen  and  understood.  Slowly, 
deliberately,  relentlessly  Mrs.  Twistleton  had  leaned  back- 
wards against  the  terror-stricken  child,  pushing  her  to 
the  abyss:  and  when  the  child  clutched  desperately  at 
her  shoulder  and  her  head  she  had  turned  in  a  fury 


LAW  AND   OUTLAW  265 

trying  to  extricate  herself.  So  near  a  thing  it  was  that 
when  Victor  snatched  at  Peggy  her  body  was  tottering 
towards  the  edge,  and  if  her  frock  had  not  been  strong 
she  must  have  fallen:  while  Andrea  unceremoniously 
seized  Mrs.  Twistleton  by  the  arm  and  pulled  her  away 
from  the  wall  and  the  child  with  more  strength  than 
most  people  would  have  thought  there  could  be  in  his 
frail  form.  It  was  a  scuffle  of  a  moment,  and  the  horror 
came  when  it  was  over:  making  itself  felt  in  the  intense 
silence  amidst  which  the  two  men  tried  to  recover  their 
breath  and  the  woman  her  composure.  Peggy,  looking 
at  Victor's  stormy  face,  began  to  cry. 

"So  you  were  in  there !"  began  Mrs.  Twistleton  In  a 
voice  that  rang  as  false  as  her  words.  "What  a  mercy ! 
In  another  moment  Peggy  would  have  dragged  me  with 
her,  I  believe.  The  wall  is  very  low." 

"Yes !"  said  Victor.    "The  wall  is  very  low." 

Another  silence  ensued,  pregnant  and  denunciatory. 
Victor  took  Peggy  by  the  hand  and  was  about  to  walk 
away  with  her  when  his  attention  was  called  to  Andrea, 
who  had  not  spoken  at  all  but  looked  as  if  he  was  going 
to  swoon.  The  sweat  stood  in  beads  on  his  brow,  his 
color  was  livid,  and  he  leaned  against  the  opposite  wall 
the  image  of  physical  and  mental  distress.  He  was 
groaning  a  little  and  muttering  something  to  himself  in 
Italian  that  Victor  did  not  understand. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  ill  again,"  he  said  to  him.  "Let  me 
help  you  down  to  your  carriage.  Stop  that  noise,  Peggy, 
at  once.  I  can  hardly  hear  myself  speak." 

For  Peggy  was  crying  her  heart  out  now,  partly  with 
fright  and  partly  because  she  had  a  guilty  conscience  and 
thought  that  Victor's  anger  was  directed  against  her. 
His  hand  held  her  more  tightly  than  he  realized  and  she 
felt  herself  a  captive  and  in  disgrace.  Besides,  the  ad- 
venture on  the  wall  had  shaken  her  nerve,  and  the  last 
sickening  moments  of  it  seemed  to  get  clearer  and  more 


266  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

dreadful  as  she  thought  of  them.  However,  when  Mr. 
Gerard  spoke  to  her  in  that  voice  she  understood  that  he 
meant  to  be  obeyed :  and  of  course,  if  you  know  that  you 
must  stop  crying,  you  do,  and  then  you  soon  feel  better. 
Moreover,  poor  Uncle  Andrea  did  look  very  ill.  Even 
Peggy  could  see  that,  and  forgot  herself  because  she  felt 
so  sorry  for  him.  Mr.  Gerard  did  not  let  her  hand  go, 
but  walked  slowly  along  the  ramparts  towards  the  stair- 
case, his  arm  round  the  musician's  shoulder.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  remained  behind. 

Half-way  down  the  stairs  Andrea's  friends  met  him, 
became  aware  of  his  plight  and  volubly  took  charge. 
Victor  saw  them  pack  themselves  into  their  carriage  with 
much  gesticulation  and  drive  away.  As  he  stood  near 
the  entrance  watching  them  he  saw  Miss  Busby  and 
Mabel  and  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do. 

"Your  mother  wants  you,"  he  said  to  Mabel.  "Go 
up  to  the  top  of  those  stairs  and  turn  to  the  left.  She 
is  still  on  the  ramparts." 

"Where  did  you  find  Peggy?"  said  Mabel,  looking  in- 
quisitively at  her  step-sister's  tear-stained  face. 

"Ask  your  mother,"  said  Victor  shortly,  and  turned  to 
Miss  Busby. 

"I  want  you  to  take  Peggy  home  at  once,"  he  said, 
"and  don't  let  her  out  of  your  sight  again,  please." 

"I  am  sure  it  was  not  my  fault  before,"  said  Miss 
Busby,  tossing  her  head  at  Victor's  peremptory  tone. 
"I  told  you  to  follow  me,  Peggy,  when  the  storm  began, 
but  you  are  always  so  troublesome  and  disobedient. 
Where  have  you  been  all  the  time?" 

"She  can  tell  you  that  on  the  way  back,"  said  Victor 
impatiently,  and  put  them  into  the  little  carriage. 

"Come  with  us,"  said  Peggy  to  him.  "Come  with  us! 
I  won't  cry  if  you  do." 

"No,"  said  Victor.    "I'm  going  to  walk." 

"Then  you'll  be  late  for  the  races" 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  267 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Busby.  "We  are  late  as  it  is.  You 
had  better  tell  the  driver  to  hurry,  Peggy,  if  you  want 
to  see  it." 

It  crossed  Victor's  mind  that  after  the  shock  she  had 
had  Peggy  probably  ought  to  go  straight  back  to  the 
hotel  and  be  put  to  bed.  But  he  did  not  say  so,  because 
he  did  not  mean  to  enter  into  explanations  with  Miss 
Busby.  He  was  going  to  walk  home,  and  while  he  walked 
make  up  his  mind  what  to  do.  There  had  been  an 
attempt  at  murder.  He  and  the  Italian  had  both  seen 
it,  but  if  it  had  succeeded  could  they  have  proved  any- 
thing? The  more  he  thought  it  over  the  more  he  felt 
convinced  that  it  would  have  been  impossible.  Mrs. 
Twistleton  would  have  sworn  that  she  stood  still  at  first 
in  order  not  to  frighten  the  child,  and  that  when  she 
turned  Peggy  lost  her  balance  and  toppled  over.  It 
might  have  happened  so.  The  moment  when  they  were 
at  grips  with  each  other  was  confused,  swift  and  chang- 
ing. It  was  the  moment  before  when  she  leaned  back 
against  the  child  that  Victor  saw  clearly,  and  that  con- 
demned her.  He  had  no  doubt  whatever  about  it.  The 
thought  must  have  come  into  her  mind  suddenly,  but 
she  had  acted  on  it  with  determination :  as  a  man  acts 
on  an  opportunity  long  desired  and  suddenly  seen.  She 
must  never  have  an  opportunity  again. 

Victor  did  not  feel  uneasy  about  the  next  thirty-six 
hours.  There  would  not  be  a  second  attempt  in  that 
time,  and  when  Saturday  came  she  should  leave  Peggy 
behind  with  him.  She  would  know  why  and  probably 
raise  no  difficulties :  for  she  had  had  a  fright.  He  wished 
he  need  not  see  her  again  under  circumstances  that  made 
the  civilities  of  daily  life  inevitable:  but  it  was  easier 
to  wait  for  her  departure  on  Saturday  than  to  depart 
himself  with  Peggy  to-night.  He  need  not  see  much 
of  her  except  at  meals. 

He  wished  he  had  cautioned  Andrea  not  to  say  a  word 


268  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

to  Daphne  and  distress  her  unnecessarily :  but  as  he  had 
little  Italian,  and  the  Italian  little  English,  communica- 
tion between  them  was  not  easy.  He  must  try  to  see 
Daphne  himself  to-morrow  and  tell  her  of  his  new  in- 
tentions with  regard  to  Peggy:  but  he  was  not  as  happy 
about  them  as  he  would  have  been  a  week  or  two  ago : 
for,  after  all,  what  had  he  to  say  to  her?  "A  few  days 
hence,  when  I  choose,  in  fact,  I  shall  take  away  your 
child  whom  you  love  and  send  her  to  an  English  school, 
where  I  hope  she  will  be  well  treated.  But  you  will 
not  see  her  again  unless  I  countenance  some  informal 
meeting  that  can  only  last  a  short  time.  For  years  to 
come  she  will  grow  up  in  the  circumstances  I  arrange  for 
her,  and  you  will  have  no  part  in  her  education  and 
development.  I  will  do  my  best  for  her,  but  I  know 
nothing  of  children  and  must  leave  her  body  and  soul  to 
strangers."  But  there  would  be  no  need  to  say  this  to 
Daphne  because  she  would  know  that  this  was  what  he 
was  going  to  do :  and  she  would  be  most  unhappy. 

He  went  home  by  the  Campo  but  remained  below 
amongst  the  crowd  instead  of  finding  his  seat  on  the 
stand,  and  looking  up  at  it  he  saw  that  Miss  Busby  was 
there  with  Peggy,  but  not  Mrs.  Twistleton  and  Mabel. 
When  the  race  was  over  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  stand 
in  time  to  get  hold  of  Peggy  as  she  came  down  from 
it,  and  keeping  her  hand  in  his  he  led  her  through  the 
thronged  main  street.  His  feelings  for  the  child  had 
undergone  a  change  he  hardly  understood  himself  lately, 
and  to-day  had  accentuated  it.  He  was  glad  to  feel 
her  small  live  hand  in  his,  and  his  anger  grew  hot  within 
him  as  he  thought  of  what  might  have  been. 

"You  don't  want  me  to  cry  again,  do  you?"  her  small 
fluty  voice  said  insistently,  and  he  realized  that  she  had 
said  other  things  before  and  that  he  had  not  heard  them, 
because  his  brooding  wrath  had  made  him  deaf  to 
her. 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  269 

"Why  should  you  cry?"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her, 
and  he  spoke  kindly. 

"You  look  so  dreadfully  angry  and  you  won't  listen 
to  what  I  say,"  she  told  him.  "I've  told  you  twice  that 
I'm  sorry.  When  I  say  I'm  sorry  to  Mummy  she  kisses 
me  and  puts  her  arms  round  me." 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  do  that  here,"  said  Victor, 
recovering  himself.  "What  are  you  sorry  about?" 

"About  being  on  the  wall  and  running  away  from 
Miss  Busby.  I  know  I  ought  not.  But  first  I  went  with 
Uncle  Andrea  and  his  friends,  and  then  I  saw  the  stair- 
case, and  then  I  saw  the  wall  and  got  on  it.  I  thought 
it  would  be  easier  than  the  cherry-tree:  and  it  was  easy 
till  I  saw  her  and  got  frightened.  Besides,  she  tried  to 
push  me  off." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Victor  quickly. 

"She  did.  I  expect  it  was  a  judgment  on  me  for 
saying  I  wanted  to  push  her  off  the  tower  at  Pisa.  Now 
that  I  know  what  it  feels  like  I  shan't  ever  say  it  again. 
But  she  did  give  me  a  little  push,  and  I  caught  hold  of 
her  anyhow,  and  then  you  came  and  Uncle  Andrea  and  I 
forget  the  rest.  I  haven't  told  Miss  Busby  about  the 
push  because  she  wouldn't  believe  me,  but  I've  told  her 
I  nearly  fell  off  the  wall  and  was  killed,  and  she  says  it 
serves  me  right  for  playing  such  a  trick  on  her  and  that 
she  wishes  she  was  in  England  again.  She  is  rather 
annoyed  because  you've  torn  my  frock  where  you  caught 
me  by  it,  and  now  she  will  have  to  get  another  out  of 
my  trunk.  Our  things  are  all  packed  ready  for  Satur- 
day. I  wish  I  wasn't  going  with  them.  I  don't  believe 
you  hear  a  word  I  say,  Mr.  Gerard.  What  are  you 
thinking  about?  You  needn't  hold  my  hand  so  hard. 
You  hurt  it,  and  I'm  not  going  to  run  away.  It's  no  use, 
because  you  know  now  where  Mummy  lives.  Shall  we 
see  Mummy  to-morrow  at  the  Palio  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Victor. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

T"\EGGY  was  enjoying  the  day  of  the  Palio  very  much. 
In  the  morning  Mr.  Gerard  took  her  here  and  there 
in  the  city  seeing  what  there  was  to  be  seen.  After 
weeks  of  unbroken  blazing  heat  this  day  of  all  others 
chose  to  be  clouded  and  showery,  but  she  had  her 
mackintosh  and  he  had  his.  They  went  to  the  contrada 
church  of  the  Istrice  and  saw  all  the  costumes,  hats  and 
banners  ready  for  the  great  procession  that  would  pre- 
cede the  race  that  evening,  and  for  a  little  while  they 
sat  in  the  church  of  Provenzano,  where  a  solemn  Mass 
was  being  sung  and  where  at  night  the  winning  horse 
would  come  to  be  blessed  while  the  crowd  inside  sang 
the  Te  Deum.  Peggy  knew  it  rather  selfish,  but  she 
was  glad  Mr.  Gerard  had  not  asked  Mabel  to  come  with 
them.  She  liked  him  so  much,  that  she  liked  him  to 
herself,  but  best  of  all  she  liked  him  and  her  mother 
together. 

"Can't  we  go  and  see  her?"  she  said,  and  Victor, 
nothing  loth,  went  to  the  flat  with  the  child  and  asked 
for  Daphne. 

But  Giuditta  said  that  her  mistress  was  out  and  would 
probably  not  be  back  for  some  time.  "If  the  Signorina 
liked  to  come  in  and  wait.  .  .  ." 

"Can  I?"  said  Peggy,  but  Victor  reminded  her  that 
she  wanted  to  see  another  contrada  church  and  that  then 
it  would  be  lunch-time. 

"I'll  just  look  at  the  cherry  tree  and  my  room,"  said 
Peggy,  and  darted  past  Giuditta  into  the  corridor.  In 
two  minutes  she  was  back  again,  but  as  she  walked  with 

270 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  271 

Victor  towards  the  church  they  were  about  to  see,  she 
said: 

"Mummy  must  be  going  away.  I  peeped  into  her 
room,  and  there  was  a  trunk  half  packed  with  clothes  and 
the  bed  was  heaped  up  with  clothes.  Where  can  she 
be  going?" 

"I've  no  idea,"  said  Victor,  startled  and  displeased  by 
this  information.  If  Daphne  was  leaving  Siena  without 
telling  him,  his  visions  of  some  days  with  her  and  Peggy 
would  not  materialize.  He  must  see  her  as  soon  as 
possible  and  persuade  her  to  wait.  Perhaps  if  he  went 
round  directly  after  lunch  he  would  have  better  luck. 

"I  wish  you  would  get  a  big  car  again  and  take  us 
both  with  you,"  said  Peggy  on  their  way  back  to  the 
hotel. 

"Where  to?" 

"Anywhere:  the  further  the  better:  for  ever  and 
ever." ' 

"What  ideas  you  have!" 

"I  know  Mummy  would  like  it:  and  so  should  I." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Well,  I  think  so :  but  you  might  ask  her." 

"Come  along,"  said  Victor;  "we  shall  be  late  for 
lunch,"  and  remembered  as  he  spoke  that  he  was  about 
to  see  Mrs.  Twistleton  for  the  first  time  since  yesterday. 
For  she  had  not  appeared  at  dinner  yesterday,  but  had 
sent  a  message  to  say  that  she  was  tired  and  would  dine 
in  her  room. 

She  looked  much  as  usual,  he  thought:  self-possessed 
and  in  the  best  of  health:  but  she  avoided  his  eye.  He 
avoided  hers  too,  and  did  not  speak  more  than  was 
necessary.  Luckily  Miss  Busby  and  the  children  had 
plenty  to  say,  for  the  children  were  full  of  excitement 
and  Miss  Busby  full  of  complaints.  She  had  seen  noth- 
ing yet,  she  said,  because  she  had  been  busy  all  the 
morning  with  packing  for  next  day's  early  start,  but 


272  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

she  had  been  told  that  the  Palio  would  not  take  place 
to-day  on  account  of  the  rain,  and  in  that  case  what 
would  happen?  Would  Mrs.  Twistleton  wait  in  Siena 
for  it  and  want  trunks  unpacked  again? 

"I  thought  you  had  packed  everything  yesterday,"  put 
in  Peggy.  "You  said  it  would  take  you  ever  so  long 
to  find  me  another  frock  instead  of  the  one  that  got 
torn." 

"That  was  partly  what  hindered  me,"  said  Miss  Busby. 

Mrs.  Twistleton  said  nothing  until  lunch  was  over,  and 
then  she  called  Miss  Busby  away  from  the  children  and 
told  her  in  Victor's  presence  that  whether  the  Palio 
was  put  off  or  run  the  start  for  Vallombrosa  would  take 
place. 

"What  is  to  happen  about  Peggy?"  she  said  to  Victor. 

"Peggy  is  to  stay  behind  with  me,"  he  said. 

Miss  Busby's  mouth  yawed  open  and  her  eyes  looked 
as  if  they  would  fall  out  of  her  head. 

"What !"  she  cried,  forgetting  to  be  as  polite  as  usual. 

"You  needn't  say  anything  to  her  yet,"  said  Victor. 
"I  want  to  tell  her  myself  to-morrow." 

"But  .  .  .  but.  .  .  ." 

"That  will  do,  Miss  Busby,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton, 
and  without  looking  again  at  either  of  them  walked  out 
of  the  room. 

"This  is  a  sudden  arrangement,"  began  Miss  Busby. 
"I  shall  have  to  think  things  over.  I  may  have  put 
some  of  Mabel's  things  into  Peggy's  trunks.  In  fact, 
I  am  sure  I  have.  I  think  if  Mrs.  Twistleton  knew  of 
it  yesterday  it  would  have  been  more  considerate  to  have 
told  me." 

"Don't  worry,"  said  Victor,  who  did  not  like  Miss 
Busby  much  but  felt  sorry  for  her  sometimes.  "We 
won't  keep  what  doesn't  belong  to  us.  If  we  find  any- 
thing of  Mabel's  we'll  send  it  on:  and  will  you  please 
tell  Peggy  now  that  I  am  waiting  for  her?" 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  273 

He  seemed  unwilling  to  let  Peggy  out  of  his  sight, 
thought  Miss  Busby.  All  this  morning  he  had  had  the 
child  with  him,  and  now  he  was  proposing  to  take  charge 
of  her  this  afternoon  too:  and,  strangest  of  all,  she  was 
to  be  left  behind  with  him  to-morrow.  What  could 
have  happened  ?  But  he  was  not  a  man  Miss  Busby  felt 
able  to  question.  He  was  kind,  but  he  had  a  short  way 
with  him  at  times. 

"If  she  is  going  to  England  with  you  she  will  want  her 
warm  clothes,"  she  said  fussily,  "and  she  has  none  ex- 
cept a  pink  coat  stained  with  orange  juice,  and  that  is 
at  the  very  bottom  of  the  trunk.  She  says  her  mother 
threw  away  her  old  black  serge." 

"Never  mind,  Miss  Busby,"  said  Victor  firmly.  "Will 
you  send  Peggy  to  me  now? — and  you  needn't  trouble 
about  her  clothes.  I'll  see  to  them." 

Of  course  that  meant  that  he  would  ask  her  mother  to 
help  him.  Miss  Busby  shook  her  head  over  the  state  of 
things  as  she  went  upstairs  and  wondered  again  what 
had  happened:  but  probably  she  would  never  know. 
Dear  Mrs.  Twistleton  was  so  reticent.  So  unlike  herself. 
It  was  all  she  could  do  not  to  tell  Mabel  and  Peggy  the 
news  directly  she  saw  them.  However,  by  a  great  effort 
she  turned  her  attention  to  what  she  had  to  do,  and 
made  Peggy  tidy  for  the  afternoon. 

It  was  true  that  Victor  did  not  feel  inclined  to  let  the 
child  out  of  his  sight  to-day.  He  went  here  and  there, 
he  thought  of  this  and  that,  but  he  could  not  forget  what 
he  had  seen.  It  burned  in  his  mind,  eclipsing  every- 
thing else  with  an  increasing  horror.  He  went  over 
every  moment  until  each  successive  stage  crystallized  in 
his  memory,  some  with  deadly  clearness  and  some 
blurred.  From  the  time  when  he  rushed  after  Andrea 
he  only  had  a  confused  impression  of  a  struggle  and 
his  frenzied  snatch  at  the  tottering  child.  He  would 
like  to  see  Andrea  again,  and  there  was  a  long  afternoon 


274  LAW  AND   OUTLAW 

before  them.  Peggy  and  he  might  call  at  h~is  rooms  after 
seeing  Daphne. 

But  they  had  no  luck.  Daphne  was  still  out  and 
Signer  Sarzoni  was  out  giving  lessons.  Giuditta  could 
not  say  when  her  mistress  would  be  back,  and  she  seemed 
annoyed  at  being  asked.  Signor  Sarzoni  would  probably 
not  return  to  his  rooms  till  after  the  Palio. 

"The  Palio  seems  to  have  a  bad  effect  on  the  temper," 
said  Victor.  "I  never  saw  Giuditta  snappy  before.  She 
almost  shut  the  door  in  our  faces.  Never  mind.  We'll 
have  an  early  tea  now  and  then  we'll  go  to  St.  Catherine's 
Church  to  see  the  Oca's  horse  blessed." 

The  little  church  was  crowded  when  they  arrived, 
chiefly  with  British  and  American  tourists,  but  Victor 
found  seats  for  himself  and  Peggy.  They  had  a  long 
time  to  wait,  but  at  last  the  doors  were  opened  and  the 
horse  came  in,  wearing  a  red,  a  green  and  a  white  ostrich 
feather  all  upstanding  from  his  head.  He  looked  pleased 
with  himself  and  behaved  well,  only  pawing  the  tiled 
floor  at  times  while  the  officiating  priest  read  a  few 
prayers  to  him  and  sprinkled  him  with  holy  water.  When 
the  short  ceremony  was  over  everyone  filed  out  of  the 
church  after  the  horse  and  went  towards  the  Campo. 
To  please  Peggy,  who  did  not  wish  to  miss  anything, 
Victor  went  by  the  Via  Cavour,  which  was  so  densely 
packed  with  people  that  progress  was  made  by  inches. 
Every  minute  or  so  the  sound  of  the  contrada  drums 
would  be  heard,  and  then  the  people  pressed  sideways  in 
the  street  to  let  a  contrada  pass,  its  captain,  pages  and 
flag-bearers  all  dressed  now  in  their  finery.  Victor  had 
seen  this  morning  in  the  church  of  the  Istrice  that  the 
costliest  silks  and  velvets  were  used  for  these  costumes. 
The  boys  who  acted  as  pages  were  chosen  for  their 
beauty,  wore  long  fair  hair  beneath  their  feathered  caps, 
and  looked  like  the  portraits  of  young  Raphael  in 
Pinturichio's  frescoes.  The  Alfieri  were  older  men  and 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  275 

did  wonderful  feats  with  their  flags,  twirling  them  round 
their  bodies  and  hurling  them  into  the  air  to  catch  them 
again.  They  were  all  on  the  way  to  the  piazza  in  front 
of  the  Duomo,  where  they  were  to  assemble  for  the  great 
procession  that  precedes  the  race,  and  Peggy  wanted  to 
go  there.  But  Victor  pointed  out  that  they  could  not  be 
in  two  places  at  once,  and  that  if  she  watched  the  proces- 
sion form  and  start  she  would  not  be  in  her  place  to 
see  it  enter  the  Campo  and  march  round  it.  So  they 
struggled  through  the  crowd  to  the  Campo  and  found  a 
still  greater  crowd  there.  To-day  every  window  and 
balcony  was  hung  with  flags  and  bunting,  every  seat  was 
occupied,  and  people  had  found  themselves  a  niche  in  all 
sorts  of  unexpected  corners  on  roofs  and  even  high  up 
on  the  Mangia  Tower.  The  beautiful  bell  of  the  tower 
was  tolling  constantly.  Victor  could  see  it  move,  and 
showed  it  to  Peggy,  but  they  could  not  hear  it  above  the 
noise  made  by  the  crowd :  for  when  twenty-five  thousand 
Italians  are  clustered  like  swarming  bees  and  in  a  state 
of  unusual  excitement  they  easily  outvoice  a  bell.  A 
hawker  with  colored  gas  balloons  attracted  Peggy's  at- 
tention before  anything  else,  and  Victor  made  her  happy 
by  buying  her  two.  Then  they  passed  another  hawker 
with  an  open  umbrella  filled  with  fans,  and  another  with 
one  right  side  up  and  stuck  full  of  imitation  snails  and 
caterpillars  like  a  pin-cushion.  Others  were  selling  cakes 
that  looked  like  currant  buns,  but  after  the  cakes  she 
had  eaten  at  tea  Peggy  could  not  pretend  to  be  hungry. 
She  would  have  liked  an  ice  in  a  wafer  cup,  but  Victor 
got  her  past  the  barrow  and  said  they  must  go  to  their 
seats  now.  In  a  moment  the  man,  standing  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  crowd  in  the  central  place,  would 
fire  the  maroon  again,  and  then  the  carabinieri  and  the 
soldiers  would  begin  to  sweep  the  course  clear  for  the 
procession. 

"Are  you   excited?"   said   Peggy,   squeezing   Victor's 


276  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

hand.  "I  am:  but  I  wish  Mummy  was  with  us,  don't 
you?  I  wonder  where  she  is.  I've  looked  everywhere, 
but  I  can't  see  her." 

Victor  had  raked  the  windows,  the  balconies  and  the 
stands  as  well  as  he  could  and  had  not  seen  Daphne.  It 
was  not  likely  that  she  would  be  standing  amongst  the 
crowd  by  herself:  at  least,  he  hoped  not.  But  if  she 
chose  to  run  risks,  there  was  no  one  to  say  her  nay. 
Why  was  there  a  half -packed  trunk  in  her  room,  and 
where  was  she  going?  She  ought  not  to  be  running 
about  the  world  by  herself  with  no  one  to  look  after  her. 
Certainly  she  had  been  alone  since  Major  Coverdale  died, 
but  she  had  lived  quietly  in  Rome  doing  war-work. 
What  had  made  her  restless  now?  When  he  got  to  his 
seat  he  would  have  a  more  careful  look  through  his 
field-glass.  From  where  he  stood  he  could  see  that  Mrs. 
Twistleton,  Miss  Busby  and  Mabel  were  in  their  places. 
Peggy  should  go  up  in  front  of  him  and  then  he  would 
be  sitting  next  to  the  staircase  and  could  escape  easily 
if  he  wished. 

So  Peggy  clambered  up  the  little  staircase  first,  but  not 
without  disaster,  for  one  of  her  gas  balloons  escaped  and 
nearly  frightened  Miss  Busby  into  a  fit. 

"I  had  not  noticed  you,"  she  said,  "and  it  came  right 
past  me.  I  thought  it  was  a  bomb  and  that  we  should 
all  be  blown  up,  so  I  suppose  I  did  give  a  scream.  I 
don't  know  why  those  Italians  should  look  amused.  Eng- 
lish phlegm  is  celebrated,  but  a  bomb  is  not  a  pleasant 
object  close  to  your  face.  I  wish  you  would  keep  that 
one  away  from  me,  Peggy.  I've  always  disliked  those 
balloons,  and  I'm  not  enjoying  myself  because  I'm  on 
edge  waiting  for  that  horrid  pistol  to  go  off  again.  Why 
a  pistol?  A  bell  or  a  whistle  would  have  done  just  as 
well,  for  no  one  attends  to  it.  I  can't  think  where  all 
those  people  come  from,  and  look  at  those  children 
crawling  under  the  barrier  on  to  the  course.  They  will 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  277 

get  trampled  on  by  the  horses  as  sure  as  fate.  I'm 
going  to  shut  my  eyes  when  the  race  begins,  and  so  will 
Mabel.  We  don't  want  to  see  the  jockeys  slash  at  each 
other's  heads  with  oxhide  whips.  So  unsportsmanlike! 
and  if  they  foul  each  other  some  of  them  might  be 
killed.  I've  often  said  that  if  I  went  to  Spain  I  would 
not  look  on  at  a  bull-fight,  but  from  all  I  hear  this  may 
be  nearly  as  bad." 

"You  had  better  go  home,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton  in 
an  incisive  voice.  "I  should  prefer  it  if  you  did." 

Poor  Miss  Busby!  The  last  thing  she  desired  was  to 
be  taken  at  her  word  and  be  sent  about  her  business  just 
as  the  fun  was  to  begin.  She  was  a  tiresome,  discon- 
tented woman,  but  for  once  Victor  felt  sorry  for  her. 
She  hummed  and  hawed,  tried  to  excuse  herself,  thought 
she  might  as  well  stay  now  that  she  was  here,  got  red 
in  the  face  and  finally,  in  obedience  to  Mrs.  Twistleton's 
eye,  rose  in  her  seat  and  scrambled  past  Victor  and  Peggy 
to  the  staircase. 

"Get  into  the  crowd  in  tAe  center,"  he  whispered  to 
her.  "You'll  be  all  right  there  and  you'll  see  some- 
thing." 

"I  should  never  dare  to  do  that,"  sighed  Miss  Busby, 
then  gave  a  screech  like  a  steam-whistle  because  the 
maroon  went  off  again :  but  she  managed  to  get  down 
the  staircase  and  out  of  the  crowd  safely,  and  then  went 
back  to  the  hotel,  where  she  lay  down  in  order  to  soothe 
her  nerves  and  fell  fast  asleep.  When  she  waked  she 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  Mr.  Crabbe  describing  the  Palio: 
only  leaving  out  the  procession:  for  she  prided  herself 
on  being  a  truthful  woman. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

THE  course  was  cleared,  and  from  where  Peggy  sat 
she  could  see  the  trumpeters  in  medieval  dress 
who  headed  the  great  procession.  They  were  com- 
ing: and  the  silence  that  fell  on  the  Campo  was  as  if 
the  tens  of  thousands  there  were  suddenly  turned  to 
stone.  You  could  hear  the  bell  of  the  Mangia  Tower, 
rich  and  low :  you  could  hear  the  trumpets  when  the 
trumpeters  actually  appeared  leading  pages,  flag-bearers, 
horses,  jockeys,  heralds  and  captains  behind  them.  Each 
of  the  seventeen  contrada  made  a  group  of  its  own, 
wearing  its  own  colors  and  conjuring  with  its  own  flags. 
Each  one  was  received  with  roars  of  welcome  and  delight 
by  its  own  friends,  so  that  the  air  was  rent  with  shouts 
and  electric  with  excitement.  When  the  contrada  of 
the  Oca  passed  Peggy  wanted  to  shout  for  Uncle 
Andrea's  sake,  but  the  people  amongst  whom  she  sat 
watched  it  in  silence,  and  she  had  not  the  courage  to 
stand  up  and  shout  by  herself.  Most  of  them  screamed 
and  waved  when  the  Onda  appeared,  and  she  took  no 
interest  in  the  Onda,  although  it  possessed  some  fine 
Alfieri,  who  stopped  in  front  of  Peggy  and  did  all  their 
best  tricks  with  their  flags.  She  wanted  to  shout  for 
the  Istrice  too,  but  it  passed  her  corner  as  the  Oca  had, 
without  an  ovation.  It  was  the  most  beautiful  proces- 
sion Peggy  had  ever  seen,  and  Mabel,  who  now  sat 
next  to  her,  said  that  she  liked  it  better  than  the  Lord 
Mayor's  show  or  the  pantomime  at  Drury  Lane.  Peggy 
had  never  been  to  London,  so  she  could  not  make  these 
experienced  comparisons,  but  she  was  intelligent  enough 

278 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  279 

to  know  that  the  procession  derived  value  from  its  back- 
ground and  its  associations.  Uncle  Andrea  and  her 
mother  had  both  told  her  stories  from  the  history  of 
Siena,  and  she  knew  that  the  Campo  had  been  the  scene 
of  most  of  them.  The  men  marching  slowly  past  were 
the  descendants  of  the  men  who  had  fought  for  their 
liberties  in  the  narrow  streets  of  Siena  and  had  survived 
the  awful  siege  of  1554,  when  the  inexorable  laws  of  war 
sent  the  weak  and  the  old,  the  women  and  the  children, 
outside  the  walls  to  die.  Her  mother  had  said  she  did 
not  want  Peggy  to  hear  of  such  horrors,  and  told  her  there 
and  then  about  Cagenova  watering  her  lilies  and  violets 
on  her  balcony  and  playing  with  the  goldfinch  in  the 
mulberry  tree:  but  she  did  not  tell  her  the  true  end 
of  the  story  because  it  is  sad.  She  went  on  to  speak 
of  Provenzano  begging  on  the  Campo  for  his  friend  who 
was  in  prison :  and  of  the  donkey-races  and  races  with 
buffaloes  that  were  run  here  hundreds  of  years  ago.  So 
Peggy  had  a  little  more  idea  than  Mabel  of  the  linked 
memories  that  the  educated  Sienese  bring  with  them  to 
the  Palio,  and  of  the  long  traditions  of  ambition,  friend- 
ship and  hostility  that  sway  all  classes  when  the  race  is 
run.  Last  year  her  mother  had  seen  a  woman  near  her 
fall  into  hysterics  on  the  balcony  where  she  sat  because 
the  horse  of  her  contrada  dismounted  his  jockey  before 
her  eyes :  and  Peggy,  proud  of  her  knowledge,  told  Victor 
that  when  the  race  was  over  the  winning  jockey  would 
have  to  be  protected  from  being  hugged  to  death  by  his 
friends  and  the  second  from  being  beaten  by  his  dis- 
appointed supporters.  Certainly  the  scene  was  memo- 
rable. After  the  rain  of  the  morning  the  air  was  fresh 
and  cool,  and  the  clear  evening  light  fell  on  the  packed 
crowds,  on  the  flags  and  bunting,  on  the  long,  brilliantly- 
colored  procession  slowly  making  its  way  round  the 
corner,  on  the  shining  armor  worn  by  each  captain  of 
a  contrada  and  on  the  flags  being  hurled  into  the  air 


28o  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

at  every  point  of  honor.  The  bands  played  martial 
music,  the  gayly  caparisoned  horses  about  to  run  marched 
barebacked  with  their  people,  the  seats  reserved  for  the 
procession  beneath  the  Palazzo  Pubblico  gradually  be- 
came filled  with  color,  and  then,  when  all  except  the 
horses  and  jockeys  were  massed  there,  the  moment  that 
comes  to  Siena  twice  a  year  had  come.  The  horses  with 
their  jockeys  issued  from  the  Palazzo  Pubblico  and  took 
their  places  behind  the  rope  stretched  across  the  course 
just  in  front  of  Peggy.  There  were  nine,  and  some 
were  very  fidgety.  It  was  a  breathless  moment  till  the 
rope  dropped  and  they  were  off  and  away.  Three  times 
they  were  to  run  round  the  course,  but  before  they 
were  once  round  one  man  had  been  dismounted  and  three 
left  hopelessly  behind.  So  there  were  three  left:  the 
Onda,  the  Istrice  and  the  Nicchia  or  Snail :  and  how  the 
people  shouted  for  them !  They  were  coming  by  a  second 
time  now,  and  to  Peggy's  delight  and  amazement  a  young 
man  white  with  excitement  suddenly  jumped  up  like  a 
Jack-in-the-box  behind  the  stand  where  no  one  had  been 
before  and  shouted  "Istrice!"  till  he  was  hoarse:  so  she 
rose  to  her  feet  and  shouted  "Istrice!"  too,  and  wished 
she  knew  how  to  say  "Never  mind"  in  Italian  when  the 
Istrice  horse  was  overtaken  by  the  other  two.  For  the 
young  man  looked  most  woe-begone,  and  sank  below  the 
back  of  the  stand  as  mysteriously  as  he  had  risen  above 
it :  and  as  he  did  so  the  two  remaining  horses  flashed  past 
the  stand  a  third  time,  and  the  Nicchia  won. 

"They  are  thrashing  the  Onda  jockey,  the  skunks!" 
cried  Victor,  rather  excited  himself;  and  in  his  desire 
to  see  what  was  happening  he  was  out  of  the  stand  and 
on  the  course  in  a  twinkling.  Peggy  thought  she  would 
follow  him,  and  ran  down  the  staircase  and  into  the 
crowd. 

The  moment  the  race  was  over  twenty-five  thousand 
people  wanted  either  to  get  home  or  to  the  church  of  the 


LAW  AND  OUTLAW  281 

Provenzano  to  see  the  winning  horse  blessed.  The  peo- 
ple of  the  Nicchia  were  crazy  with  delight  and  were 
being  surrounded  and  congratulated  by  their  friends. 
The  stands  and  balconies  were  being  rapidly  emptied, 
but  the  course  itself  and  the  center  of  the  Campo  were 
so  crowded  that  Victor,  having  left  his  seat,  found  it 
slow  work  to  approach  it  again.  He  wanted  to  get  back 
to  pick  up  Peggy  and  see  Mrs.  Twistleton  and  the  chil- 
dren through  the  throng.  But  by  the  time  he  worked 
his  way  to  that  corner  of  the  Campo  they  had  disap- 
peared; so  he  went  with  the  tide  into  the  Via  Cavour 
expecting  to  overtake  them,  and  before  he  reached  the 
Palazzo  Tolomei  he  did  see  Mrs.  Twistleton  and  Mabel 
just  ahead  of  him. 

"Where  is  Peggy?"  he  said,  catching  them  up. 

"She  ran  after  you,"  said  Mrs.  Twistleton. 

"I've  not  seen  her,"  said  Victor. 

Mrs.  Twistleton  walked  on,  suggesting  by  her  manner 
that  Peggy's  fortunes  were  no  more  her  affair  to-day 
than  they  would  be  to-morrow,  since  Victor  chose  to 
remove  the  child  from  her  jurisdiction. 

"I  saw  her,"  said  Mabel.  "She  got  into  the  crowd, 
and  then  she  met  that  queer-looking  man  who  was  at 
Belcaro:  the  man  with  one  shoulder  higher  than  the 
other." 

"Did  she  leave  the  course  with  him?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  saw  him  speak  to  her,  and  then  we 
had  to  move  ourselves  and  got  into  the  crowd.  Perhaps 
he  took  her  to  the  hotel." 

"I  must  go  back  and  see  if  I  can  find  her,"  said  Victor, 
thinking  that  pos.;ibly  the  child  had  waited  for  him  near 
the  stand.  But  she  was  not  there.  The  Campo  was 
nearly  deserted  now  and  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Nor  could  he  find  her  in  the  Via  Cavour,  and  when  he 
asked  at  the  hotel  she  had  not  arrived  yet :  but  dinner 
was  ready. 


282  LAW    AND    OUTLAW 

"She  must  have  run  home  to  her  mother,"  said 
Mrs.  Twistleton.  "Miss  Busby  can  fetch  her  after 
dinner." 

"I'm  going  myself  now,"  said  Victor,  for  he  felt  un- 
easy. 

Crowded  as  the  streets  were,  it  did  not  take  him  long 
to  reach  Daphne's  flat,  but  when  he  rang  at  the  old 
carved  doors  no  one  came.  Again  and  again  he  rang, 
without  result,  and  as  he  waited  he  thought  of  the  half- 
packed  trunk  seen  by  Peggy  and  of  Giuditta's  odd  man- 
ner this  afternoon.  Now  that  he  thought  of  it,  she 
had  looked  embarrassed,  and  she  had  wanted  to  get  rid 
of  them  because  there  was  something  to  hide:  and  she 
had  got  rid  of  him  easily.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to 
go !  Probably  Daphne  had  been  in  the  house  at  the 
time,  and  if  he  had  insisted  he  might  have  seen  her  and 
not  be  standing  here  in  the  dark  ringing  a  bell  that  no 
one  answered.  From  the  street  below  part  of  her  garden 
could  be  seen  and  some  of  her  windows.  As  he  remem- 
bered this  he  ran  downstairs  to  look  at  them.  They 
were  in  total  darkness.  A  servant  girl  watching  him 
and  belonging  to  another  flat  in  the  house  addressed  him 
now  and  said  something  in  Italian  that  he  did  not  under- 
stand. He  pointed  to  Daphne's  garden  and  said  her  name 
clearly. 

"Se  ne  sono  andate  e  non  ritorneranno  piu,"  said  the 
girl,  and  interpreted  what  she  said  with  her  expressive, 
hands.     "Gone  away.     Gone  away,"  she  told  him. 

Victor  forgot  that  he  was  hungry  and  it  was  getting 
late.  Non  ritorneranno  piu,  he  said  over  and  over  again 
to  himself,  and  it  did  not  need  much  scholarship  to  make 
out  what  the  girl  meant.  Daphne  and  Giuditta  had  gone 
away.  They  were  not  coming  back  and  they  had  taken 
Peggy  with  them.  The  simplicity  and  the  audacity  of 
it!  Victor  hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  fume:  but 
he  was  fuming  soon  after  he  was  admitted  to  Andrea's 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  283 

room  and  found  that  the  musician  knew  all  but  would 
tell  nothing. 

"I  find  that  Mrs.  Coverdale  has  left  Siena,"  he  began. 

Andrea  bowed  and  thereby  admitted  that  Mrs.  Cover- 
dale  had  left  Siena. 

"Peggy  is  with  her?" 

Andrea  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  Peggy's  move- 
ments with  a  little  fluttering  movement  of  his  hands,  but 
he  did  not  otherwise  deny  it. 

"She  was  seen  with  you  on  the  Campo  when  the  race 
was  over.  You  were  speaking  to  her.  You  took  her 
away." 

"I  am  ill,"  said  Andrea,  who  did  look  whiter  than 
usual,  and  worn.  "I  have  not  slept.  This  morning  I 
would  go  to  the  police  and  say  to  them  what  I  have  seen. 
But,  Signora  Coverdale,  she  thinks  otherwise.  She  say, 
my  bambino  shall  come  with  me  and  hide  from  those 
bad  people.  No  scandal.  No  police." 

Andrea  sawed  the  air  horizontally  as  Italians  do  in 
negation,  and  sighed,  as  if  the  effort  of  speaking  English 
was  too  much  for  him  just  then. 

"You  told  Mrs.  Coverdale !"  exclaimed  Victor. 

"Certainly  I  told  her.  Everything  that  happened  I 
told  her.  She  knows  that  her  bambnia  would  have  been 
dead  if  you  had  not  been  as  quick  as  the  hand  of  God." 

"We  were  both  there." 

"But  you  saved  the  child.  She  knows  it.  She  will 
write  you  a  letter  that  I  shall  give  you  when  it  comes. 
But  she  say  that  never  again  shall  her  bambina  see  that 
wicked  woman  .  .  .  never  .  .  .  never !  So  she  have  gone 
away." 

"Where  to?" 

Andrea  spoke  with  his  hands  but  not  with  his  lips,  and 
what  he  said  with  his  hands  might  mean  either  that  he 
did  not  know  or  would  not  tell. 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  know,"  said  Victor  quietly. 


284  LAW   AND    OUTLAW 

Andrea's  silence  seemed  to  intimate  that  he  had  said 
all  he  had  to  say. 

"If  necessary  I  shall  have  to  go  to  the  police  for  help," 
pursued  Victor.  "I  would  much  rather  not." 

"Dio  mio!"  cried  the  Italian.  "Of  what  paste  are  you 
made?  Will  you  still  persecute  that  poor  woman  and 
her  child?  Do  you  want  to  send  her  to  prison,  where 
she  would  probably  die?  What  has  she  done  to  you  that 
you  should  be  her  enemy?" 

"I'm  not  her  enemy,"  said  Victor. 

The  Italian  looked  at  the  Englishman,  whose  face,  in 
his  opinion,  was  expressionless  and  cold.  The  man  sat 
there  as  still  as  stone,  not  to  be  moved,  not  to  be  cajoled. 
Yet  the  fine  ear  of  the  musician  had  heard  a  slight 
tremor  in  his  voice  and  a  touch  of  warmth  in  his  denial. 

"I'm  her  friend,"  said  Victor,  speaking  again,  and  this 
time  there  was  no  doubt  about  it,  his  voice  was  eager. 

"You  love  her!"  said  Andrea. 

The  Englishman  blushed.  The  Italian  marveled, 
understood,  and  saw  the  fabric  of  his  own  dreams  shat- 
tered like  a  spider's  web.  Automatically,  as  if  to  console 
himself,  he  took  up  his  violin  which  lay  on  a  table  beside 
him  and  put  it  down  again. 

"But  you  would  separate  her  from  her  child,"  he  said. 

"I  would  not,"  said  Victor. 

"But  you  came  to  Siena  for  that  purpose.  You  com- 
pelled her  to  give  up  the  child.  You  put  Peggy  in  her 
step-mother's  power.  Always  you  have  been  on  the 
wrong  side." 

"It  does  look  like  it,  I  know*,"  said  Victor,  "but  I've 
changed  my  mind.  Anyhow,  I  must  see  Mrs.  Coverdale, 
and  if  you  won't  tell  me  where  she  has  gone " 

"You  will  go  to  the  police!" 

"I  must  find  her  and  I  must  find  Peggy.  I'm  respon- 
sible for  Peggy.  I  can't  let  her  disappear  into  the  un- 
known and  sit  down  under  it.  Don't  you  see,  man?" 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  285 

"What  will  you  say  to  Mrs.  Coverdale?" 

Victor  stared  and  laughed.  "That's  on  the  lap  of  the 
gods,"  he  said:  and  though  Andrea  did  not  understand 
the  phrase,  perhaps  he  followed  the  Englishman's  mean- 
ing, for  he  sighed,  and  then  showing  Victor  a  railway 
time-table  open  near  him,  he  pointed  to  a  name  on  it  and 
explained  a  route. 

"But  they  went  in  a  car,"  he  said,  "and  the  car  must 
return  to  Siena,  and  if  you  went  to  the  police  they  would 
find  it.  Otherwise.  .  .  ."  He  looked  at  a  map  open 
near  him  on  the  table  and  pointed  to  a  name  on  it. 

"I  am  very  unhappy,"  he  said,  when  he  had  done 
this.  "I  feel  like  a  traitor:  but  to  hide  is  difficult  in 
these  days.  The  police  would  have  found  her  for  you 
sooner  or  later,  and  that  would  have  been  worse  for  her. 
But  I  am  very  anxious,  for  I  do  not  know  what  is  in  her 
mind  or  whether  she  will  listen  to  you.  If  she  will  not, 
what  will  happen  to  her  and  to  her  child?" 

"I'll  let  you  know,"  said  Victor,  and  before  the  two 
men  parted  they  shook  hands. 

It  was  close  on  midnight  when  he  went  into  the  lounge 
and  found  Mrs.  Twistleton  still  up  and  apparently  wait- 
ing to  see  him. 

"Did  you  find  Peggy?"  she  said. 

"I  know  where  she  is,"  said  he. 

"Isn't  she  in  Siena,  then?" 

"No.  Her  mother  is  hiding  with  her  in  the  moun- 
tains." 

"What  for?" 

"I  suppose  she  thinks  her  life  was  in  danger  here," 
said  Victor,  and  turned  away. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

VICTOR  stood  in  front  of  the  small  villa  that  had 
been  described  to  him  by  a  waiter  who  spoke  a 
little  English.    He  knew  he  had  come  to  the  right 
place  because  there  was  a  board  on  the  gate  with  a  paper 
gummed  on  to  it,  and  on  the  paper  was  written  in  large 
letters,  and  in  English: 

COUNTRY  SEAT  TO  LET. 
SIX  ROOMS  AND  A  GARDEN. 

But  the  gate  was  locked  and  the  front  door  was  shut. 
All  the  windows  were  shut  too,  and  another  gate  leading 
to  the  garden,  and  the  back  of  the  house  was  chained  and 
padlocked.  The  place  seemed  to  be  uninhabited:  and 
yet  the  waiter  had  told  him  for  certain  that  the  English 
lady  with  her  child  and  her  servant  were  there.  They 
had  only  arrived  the  night  before,  but  they  had  gone 
straight  there,  and  the  Italian  servant  had  been  in  the 
village  this  morning  buying  food  and  other  things  that 
she  wanted.  The  country  seat  was  furnished  and  be- 
longed to  a  gentleman  in  Bologna  who  had  probably  lent 
it  to  the  lady  for  a  time. 

Victor  had  taken  two  days  over  his  journey,  because 
when  he  reached  Florence  his  car  had  behaved  as  cars 
often  do  when  the  chauffeur  is  less  anxious  to  get  on 
than  his  employer.  Something  had  happened  that  caused 
delay,  and  when  that  something  was  set  right  a  night  in 
Florence  had  become  inevitable.  However,  it  did  not 
matter  much.  Here  he  stood  now  within  hail  of  Daphne, 
but  apparently  she  did  not  wish  to  be  hailed.  When  he 

286 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  287 

had  rattled  on  the  gate  and  called  to  the  closed  windows 
in  vain  he  began  to  wonder  what  he  could  do  next.  How 
absurd  to  think  that  she  could  elude  him  long  in  this 
way!  She  would  have  to  come  out  of  the  house  some 
time;  and  if  he  could  not  get  in  he  would  hang  about 
outside  till  he  saw  her.  He  must  see  her. 

There  was  not  a  sound  anywhere  within.  Perhaps 
they  were  living  in  rooms  at  the  back  and  did  not  hear. 
He  rattled  on  the  gate  again  and  shouted  to  Peggy. 
Some  shock-headed  Italian  girls  of  the  peasant  class 
looked  out  of  an  upper  window  in  the  neighboring  house 
and  seemed  to  be  amused.  He  wished  he  could  talk 
to  them,  but  all  he  could  do  was  to  point  to  the  "country 
seat"  and  say  Signora  Inglese.  They  nodded,  and  said 
something  in  voluble  Italian  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand. He  pointed  to  the  gate  and  rattled  it.  They 
shook  their  heads  then  and  disappeared.  It  was  mad- 
dening. By  the  time  he  had  stood  there  for  an  hour 
he  would  have  smashed  a  window  if  he  could  have 
reached  one,  and  got  in  that  way.  But  there  were 
neighbors  close  by,  and  he  did  not  want  to  be  seen 
housebreaking  in  a  foreign  country  because  it  would  lead 
to  complications  with  the  foreign  police,  who  might  be 
disagreeable  and  would  probably  not  speak  English.  The 
little  house  was  protected  in  front  by  an  iron  railing 
and  at  the  back  by  a  high  garden  wall.  He  had  been 
all  round  it. 

He  actually  had  to  go  to  lunch  at  his  hotel  without 
having  made  himself  heard,  and  after  spending  most  of 
his  afternoon  at  the  locked  gate  he  went  down  the  hill 
to  dinner  feeling  a  fool  for  his  pains.  After  dinner  he 
strolled  about  the  village  for  a  time  and  sat  on  a  little 
piazza,  where  a  band  was  playing.  The  moon  shone  on 
the  old  houses  and  on  the  wooded  hills  that  rose  high 
behind  their  roofs  and  on  swarms  of  village  children, 
some  at  play  and  some  dancing  to  the  music.  The  sum- 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

mer  visitors  wandered  to  and  fro,  and  in  front  of  a 
cafe  people  sat  at  little  tables  eating  ices.  When  the 
music  stopped  it  was  nearly  eleven;  but  no  one  seemed 
in  a  hurry  to  go  to  bed;  and  as  he  strolled  back  to  his 
hotel  and  passed  the  turning  leading  to  the  "country 
seat"  he  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  took  it.  He  would 
have  a  look  at  it  by  moonlight. 

At  first  he  thought  the  place  was  as  lifeless  by  night 
as  by  day ;  and  then,  as  he  stood  there  listening,  he  heard 
the  sound  of  a  key  in  a  lock  at  the  front  door.  He  in- 
stantly retreated  carefully  and  quietly  to  a  place  in  deep 
shade  from  which  he  could  watch  the  gate,  but  could  not 
be  clearly  seen.  He  had  hardly  got  there  when  he  saw 
Daphne  come  out  of  the  house,  unlock  the  gate,  look  all 
ways ;  and  then  walk  slowly  on  by  the  path  leading  along 
the  hillside  high  above  the  valley.  He  let  her  get  a 
hundred  yards  ahead  of  him  and  then  he  followed  her. 
She  went  on  some  way  past  the  last  houses  at  this  high 
end  of  the  village  and  past  some  farm  buildings  strag- 
gling outside  it  until  she  reached  a  bend  in  the  path, 
and  at  the  corner  of  it  she  sat  down,  her  chin  in  her 
hand.  She  wore  no  wrap  over  her  light  summer  dress 
and  no  hat,  for  the  night  was  warm.  The  valley  was 
flooded  with  moonlight ;  the  twin  peaks  commanding  it 
seemed  close  to  the  bright  stars  above  them,  and  from 
the  village  far  below  her  came  sounds  of  human  life  and 
at  the  hour  the  loud  chimes  of  the  church  clock  striking 
five  times  to  inform  the  world  that  it  was  eleven. 

Victor,  now  that  his  hour  had  come,  wondered  how  he 
would  begin  so  as  not  to  alarm  and  repel  her.  He  was 
far  from  sure  of  his  reception  or  of  what  the  issue  of 
their  meeting  would  be:  and  he  felt  both  eager  and 
anxious.  If  she  would  not  listen  to  him  he  did  not  know 
yet  what  his  next  move  would  be.  Now  she  heard  his 
step,  looked  up  at  him,  half  rose,  and  then  sat  down  again, 


LAW   AND    OUTLAW  289 

her  face  expressing  terror,  disappointment,  chagrin :  per- 
haps uncertainty. 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that,"  he  said,  his  eyes  searching 
her  face.  "I  told  you  that  wherever  you  were  I  should 
find  you." 

"The  day  has  been  so  hot,"  she  murmured,  as  if 
apologizing  to  herself.  "I  came  out  for  a  breath  of  air. 
I  thought  at  this  time  of  night.  .  .  ." 

"You  know  that  I've  been  besieging  your  house  all 
day?" 

She  looked  down  and  did  not  speak. 

"You  know  that  you  could  not  have  kept  me  out  for 
long.  I  should  have  got  in  somehow." 

"But  how  did  you  know  that  I  was  here?" 

"Sarzoni  told  me." 

"Andrea !  Andrea  betrayed  me !  With  what,  then, 
did  you  threaten  him?" 

"I  had  to  find  you  .  .  .  and  Peggy." 

"I  thought  you  would  go  to  the  police.  I  did  not 
think  you  would  use  the  thumbscrew  on  poor  Andrea. 
He  believed  that  I  should  be  safe  here  for  a  time.  The 
house  I  am  in  belongs  to  his  friends.  They  have  lent  it 
to  me." 

"If  you  thought  you  were  safe  why  did  you  lock  all 
the  doors  and  windows?" 

"I  couldn't  feel  as  sure  as  he  did.  I  was  afraid  you 
might  find  out  somehow  and  come  for  Peggy.  The  police 
might  have  traced  the  car:  and  of  course  we  are  more 
conspicuous  in  Italy  than  Italians  would  be.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  hide." 

"Very  difficult,"  agreed  Victor. 

"But  there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  you  Peggy  would  be  dead  now.  I  know  that,  and 
I  am  grateful.  But  I  cannot  feel  grateful  to  you  for 
anything  else.  I  warned  you  and  you  would  not  listen. 


290  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

I  will  not  let  Peggy  go  back  to  that  woman.  If  you 
insist  on  it  I  shall  make  the  whole  story  public  and  fight 
the  case  in  England.  I  daresay  I  should  lose  it.  One 
knows  what  law-courts  are.  The  men  would  be  like 
you.  They  would  not  believe  me  or  esteem  me  be- 
cause. .  .  ." 

"I  esteem  you  more  than  any  woman  in  the  world," 
said  Victor,  moved  by  the  sight  of  her  helplessness  and 
her  distress. 

"But  you  mean  to  separate  me  from  Peggy." 

"I  mean  to  look  after  Peggy." 

"But  you  don't  .  .  .  you  don't.  The  other  night  she 
was  nearly  murdered.  Next  day  she  was  carried  off. 
What  do  you  want  to  do  with  her  now?  To  take  her 
back  to " 

"No,  no,"  said  Victor.  "How  can  you  think  so  ?  Don't 
cry.  Don't  look  so  unhappy.  I  know  I've  failed,  but  I 
want  to  make  good.  If  only  you'll  listen  to  me.  .  .  ." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his,  her  beautiful  slim  hand  that 
had  been  supporting  her  chin  till  now. 

"It  is  burning  hot,"  he  said,  as  he  carried  it  to  his 
lips.  "You  are  ill." 

"I  am  not  ill,"  said  Daphne,  trying  to  draw  her  hand 
away,  "but  I  am  most  unhappy.  I  can't  let  my 
child  go." 

"There  is  a  way  out  if  you  will  take  it." 

She  looked  at  him,  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"I  didn't  come  for  Peggy  only,"  he  said ;  "I  came 
for  you.  I  want  you  for  my  wife." 

She  sat  still  and  silent  as  if  his  words  gave  her  pause : 
but  when  he  put  his  arm  round  her  she  drew  a  long  sigh- 
ing breath  and  looked  at  him  again. 

"Are  you  saying  this  for  Peggy's  sake  or  for  mine 
or  for  your  own?"  she  questioned  him,  but  he  only  an- 
swered her  by  taking  her  more  closely  in  his  arms. 

"If  you  come  to  me  will  it  be  for  Peggy's  sake  or  for 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  291 

my  own?"  he  countered,  and  had  to  be  content  with 
her  smile. 

"Why  did  you  run  away  from  me?"  he  said  soon. 
"Didn't  you  guess  what  was  in  my  mind?  Didn't  you 
know  your  own?" 

"I  didn't  know  my  own:  and  I  didn't  know  yours. 
That  day  at  San  Gimtgnano  you  took  me  by  surprise, 
and  I've  thought  about  you  ever  since.  But  I  under- 
stood that  you  were  going  to  England.  You  said  so. 
I  would  not  let  myself  believe.  .  .  ." 

"But  you  believe  now?" 

"I  told  myself  ...  I  tried  to  make  myself  think  that 
I  never  wanted  to  see  you  again  .  .  .  and  to-night  when 
you  appeared  I  still  felt  all  ways  .  .  .  afraid  .  .  .  glad 
.  .  .  sorry  .  .  .  because  of  Peggy." 

"There  comes  Peggy !"  said  Victor,  and  in  the  moon- 
light they  saw  the  child  come  round  the  corner  and 
approach  them. 

"I  left  her  in  bed,"  cried  Daphne,  and  Victor  saw  that 
Peggy  had  only  thrown  a  dressing-gown  over^  her  night 
attire.  When  she  saw  him  she  gave  a  cry  of  delight  and 
flung  herself  upon  him. 

"You  are  the  most  forward  young  woman  I've  ever 
met,"  he  told  her  as  soon  as  he  could  speak.  "You 
take  my  breath  away.  Now  if  your  mother  would  do 
that.  .  .  ." 

"It  isn't  likely,"  said  Peggy. 

"Why  isn't  it  likely?     What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"Her  one  idea  is  to  get  away  from  you.  I'm  always 
glad  to  see  you,  but  she  never  is." 

"Peggy,  be  quiet,"  said  Daphne. 

"Well,  you  pulled  me  away  from  the  window  this 
morning  when  you  saw  him,"  narrated  Peggy;  "and 
you  turned  first  red  and  then  white  and  you  cried.  I 
believe  you're  afraid  of  him.  You  needn't  be  really. 
He's  very  kind." 


292  LAW   AND   OUTLAW 

"Oh,  is  he!"  cried  Victor.  "You  wait,  young  woman, 
and  see  if  I'm  kind  when  you  get  out  of  bed  and  take 
moonlight  walks  in  half-dress.  This  is  the  second 
time.  .  .  ." 

"Last  time  you  carried  me  home,"  said  Peggy,  rubbing 
her  cheek  against  his.  "But  I've  shoes  on  to-night." 

"You  are  very  naughty,  Peggy,"  said  Daphne.  "How 
did  you  know  which  way  I  had  taken?" 

"I  watched  you  from  the  window  and  I  saw  a  man 
follow  you,  so  I  thought  I'd  better  come  and  see.  I 
knew  you,  but  I  couldn't  make  out  who  the  man  was, 
and  it  might  have  been  a  brigand." 

"If  it  had  been,  what  did  you  propose  to  do?"  asked 
Victor. 

"To  stay  with  Mummy,"  said  Peggy. 

"Even  if  the  brigand  took  her  to  his  cave?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"He  might  not  have  wanted  you  both." 

"Well,  it  was  you,  luckily,"  said  Peggy,  after  con- 
sidering in  vain  how  to  solve  such  a  problem. 

"Shall  we  tell  her?"  said  Victor,  turning  to  Daphne. 

"Is  it  something  nice?"  cried  Peggy.  "I  expect  it  is. 
Nice  things  always  happen  when  you  come.  Are  you 
going  to  take  us  with  you  in  a  car  again?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  to?" 

"Back  to  Siena  first,  I  think,"  said  Victor,  turning  to 
Daphne  for  approval,  "and  then  probably  to  Rome  or 
Florence  when  the  necessary  formalities " 

"We  are  going  to  be  married,"  said  Daphne. 

"What  a  good  idea !"  said  Peggy. 

"It  is  rather,  isn't  it?"  said  Victor.  "Saves  a  lot  of 
trouble.  No  more  running  away,  I  hope." 

"Shall  you  live  in  Mummy's  house  or  will  she  live  in 
yours  ?" 

"Which  do  you  advise?" 


LAW   AND   OUTLAW  293 

"Now  he's  laughing  at  me,  Mummy.  I  expect  hell 
laugh  at  both  of  us.  But  you  needn't  mind.  I  believe 
you'll  like  him." 

"I  believe  I  shall,"  said  Daphne. 


THE  END 


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